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PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 



A LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN, 



BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., LL.D. 



POET LAUREATE, &c., &c., &C 



ILLUSTRATED WITH FIFTY CUTS, BY ADAMS, 



AFTER DESIGNS BY CHAPMAN, HARVEY, AND OTHERS. 



NEW YORK: 

J. C. DERBY, 8 PARK PLACE. 

CINCI]!^KATI: H. W. DERBY. 

18 5 5. 



.•i*° 

.-.. . 



-&^\i 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1836, by 

Harper & Brothers, 
m the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New -York, 



Oh thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wtog 

Bafils. to the season of life's happy spring, 

I pleased remember, and while memory yot 

Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget; 

Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 

Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail; 

Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple styUx 

May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; 

Witty, and well employed, and, like thy Lord, 

Speaking in parables his slighted word; 

I name thee not, lest so despised a name 

Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame ; 

Yet e'en in transitory life's late day, 

That mingles all my brown with sober gray 

Revere the man. whose Pilgrim marks the road, 

And guides the PRoanEss of the soul to God 

COIVFSB. 



LIST OF EMBELLISHMENTS, 

yROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS, BY CHAPMAN, HARVEY, AND OTHERS, 
ENGRAVED BY ADAMS. 



PAGE 

I. Frontispiece •■• • >• ^ 

II. Portrait of Bunyan. ■•■•• 3 

PART I. 

III. The Author, Dreaming 83 

IV. Evangelist directing Christian 65 

V. Christian running from his Wife and Children 86 

VI. Help drawing Christian out of the Slough of Despond .j. • . . 90 

VII. Christian at the Wicket-gate. 98 

Vni. Interpreter showing Christian the Fire of Grace 105 

IX. Christian losing his Burden at the Cross 109 

X. Christian Weeping in the Arbour 115 

XI. Christian passing the Lions 117 

Xn. Christian's Fight with ApoUyon 128 

Xm. The Valley of the Shadow of Death 130 

XIV. Christian in the Valley of the Shadow of Death 131 

XV. Christian passing the Cave of Giant Pope 134 

XVI, The Return of Pliable, derided by "all sorts of people." 137 

XVn. Moses and Christ meeting Faithful 139 

XVTII. Evangelist pointing out Vanity-Fair 154 

XIX. Faithful carried to Heaven 162 

XX. The Pilgrims in the Dungeon of Giant Despair 176 

XXI. The Pilgrims escaping from Doubting Castle 178 

XXn. Tlie Delectable Mountains 179 

XXIII. The Perspective Glass 183 

XXIV. Pilgrims in the Net 192 

XXV. Christian and Hopeful passing through the River 211 

XXVI. Pilgrims across the River 216 

9 



10 CONTENTS. 

PART II 

XXVn. The Author awoke from his Second Dream , 225 

XXVIII. The Mission of Secret to Christiana and Children 232 

XXIX. Christiana and her Sons 234 

XXX. Christiana, her Children, and Mercy set off. 238 

XXXI. Mercy Faints: the Keeper raises her 2^ 

XXXII. The Man with the Mack-rake 251 

XXXm. Parable of the Hen and Chicfeens 2-53 

XXXIV. Halt of the Pilgrims at the Cross where Christian lost his Burden 260 

XXXV. Great-heart, Giant Grim, and the Lions 268 

XXXVI. The Contented Shepherd-Boy 284 

XXXVII. The Pilgrims overtaking Honest 292 

XXXVIII. Great-heart daring Giant Slay-good to Combat 309 

XXXrX. Pilgrims looking at the Pillar of Salt .' 320 

XL. Doubting Castle Demolished 322, 

XLL The Pilgrims rejoicing at the Death of Giant Despair 323 

XLn. Sleepers on the Enchanted Ground 336 

XLIII. Christiana passing the River 311 



XLIV. Elstow Church and Belfry, Bedfordshire 11 

XLV. Singular Autograph of the Author 35 

XLVI. Specimen of the Author's Handwriting » 36 

XLVn. Emblematical Design, End of the Life 72 

SLVin. Emblematical Design, End of the Pilgrim's Progress , 44f 




fElstow Church and Belfrf.J 



THE LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 



"When Cowj-er composed his Satires, he hid the name of Whitefield 
" beneath well-sounding Greek ;" and abstamed from mentioning Bunyan 
while he panegyrized him, " lest so despised a name should move a sneer." 
In Bunyan's case this could hardly have been needful forty years ago ; for though 
a just appreciation of our elder and better writers was at that time far less gen- 
eral than it appears to be at present, the author of the Pilgrim's Progress was 
even then in high repute. His fame may literally be said to have risen ; 
beginning among the people it had made its way up to those who are called 
the public. In most instances the many receive gradually and slowly the 
opinions of the few respecting literary merit ; and sometimes in assentation 
to such authority profess with their lips an admiration of they know not what, 
they know not why. But here the opinion of the multitude had been ratified 
by the judicious. The people knew what they admired. It is a book which 
makes its way through the fancy to the understanding and the heart : the 
child peruses it with wonder and delight ; in youth we discover the genius 
which it displays ; its worth is apprehended as we advance in years, and v/a 
perceive its merits feelingly in decHning age. 
11 



12 LIFE OF JOHN BUKYAN. 

John Bunyan has faithfully recorded his own spiritual history. Had he 
dreamed of being " for ever known," and taking his place among those who 
3iay be called the immortals of the earth, he would probably have introduced 
more details of his temporal circumstances and the events of his life. But 
glorious dreamer as he was, this never entered into his imaginations ; less con- 
cerning him than might have been expected has been preserved by those of 
his own sect, and it is now not likely that any thing more should be recovered 
from oblivion. The village of Elstow, which is within a mile of Bedford, was 
his birthplace, 1628, the year of his birth ; and his descent, to Mse his own 
words, " of a low inconsiderable generation, my father's house," he says, 
" being of that rank that is meanest and most despised of all the families in 
the land." It is stated in a history of Bedfordshire that he was bred to the 
business of a brazier, and worked as a journeyman in Bedford : but the bra- 
ziers' company would not deem itself more honoured now if it could show the 
name of John Bunyan upon its rolls, than it would have felt disparaged then by 
any such fellowship ; for he was as his own statement implies, of a generation 
of tinkers, born and bred to that calling as his father had been before him. 
Wherefore this should have been so mean and despised a calling is not however 
apparent, when it was not followed as a vagabond employment, but, as in this 
case, exercised by one who had a settled habitation, and who, mean as his 
condition was, was nevertheless able to put his son to school, in an age when 
very few of the poor were taught to read and write. The boy learned both, 
"according to the rate of other poor men's cnildren," but soon lost what 
little he had been taught, " even," he says, " almost utterly." 

Some pains also, it may be presumed, his parents took m impressing hirn 
with the sense of his religious duties ; otherwise, when in his boyhood he be- 
came a proficient m cursing and swearing above his fellows, he would not have 
neen visited by such dreams and such compunctious feelings as he has de- 
scribed. " Often," he says, " after I had spent this and the other day in sin, 
I have in my bed been greatly afflicted, while asleep, with the apprehensions 
of devils, and wicked spirits, who still, as I then thought, laboured to draw 
me away v/ith them." His waking reflections were not less terrible than these 
fearful visions of the night; and these, he says, "when I vi^as but a child, 
but nine or ten years old, did so distress my soul, that then in the midst of my 
many sports and childish vanities, amidst my vam companions, I was often 
much cast down, and afilicted in my mind therewith ; yet could I not let go 
my sins. Yea, I was also then so overcome with despair of life and heaven, 
that I should often wish, either that there had been no hell, or that I had been 
a devil, supposing they were only tormentors ; that if it must needs be that 
I went thither, I might be rather a tormentor, than be tormented myself." 

These feelings when he approached towards manhood, recurred as might be 
expected less frequently and with less force ; but though he represents him- 
self as having been what he calls a town-smner, he was never so given over 
to a reprobate mind, as to be wholly free from them. For though he became 
so far hardened m profligacy that he could " take pleasure m the vileness 
of his companions," yet the sense of right and wrong was not extinguished 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 1 

.1 iiim, and it shocked him if at any tune he saw those who pretended to be 
religious act in a manner unworthy of their profession. Some providential 
escapes during this part of his life, he looked *back upon afterward, as so 
many judgments mixed with mercy. Once he fell into a creek of the sea, 
once out of a boat into the river Ouse near Bedford, and each time was nar- 
rowly saved from drowning. One day an adder crossed his path ; he stunned 
it with a stick, then forced open its mouth with the stick, and plucked out the 
tongue, which he supposed to be the sting, with his fingers, " by which act," 
he says, " had not God been merciful unto me, I might by my desperateness 
have brought myself to my end." If this indeed were an adder, and not a 
harmeless snake, his escape from the fangs was more remarkable than he was 
himself aware of. A circumstance which was likely to impress him more 
deeply occurred in the eighteenth year of his age, when being a soldier in the 
parliament's army he was drawn out to go to the siege of Leicester : one of 
the same company wished to go in his stead ; Bunyan consented to exchange 
with him, and this volunteer substitute standing sentinel one day at the siege 
was snot through the head with a musket-ball. 

Some serious thoughts this would have awakened in a harder heart than 
Bunyan's ; but his heart never was hardened. The self-accusations of such 
a man are to be received with some distrust, not of his sincerity, but of his 
sober judgment. It should seem that he ran headlong into the boisterous 
vices which prove fatal to so many of the ignorant and the brutal, for want of 
that necessary and wholesome restrictive discipline which it is the duty of a 
government to provide ; biat he was not led into those habitual sins which 
infix a deeper stain. "Had not a miracle of precious grace prevented, I had 
laid myself open," he says, " even to the stroke of those laws, which bring 
some to disgrace and open shame before the face of the world." That grace 
he had ; — he was no drunkard, for if he had been he would loudly have pro- 
claimed it ; and on another point we have his own solemn declaration, in one 
of the most characteristic passages in his whole works, where he replies to 
those who slandered him as leading a licentious life with women. " I call on 
them," he says, " when they have used the utmost of their endeavours, and 
made the fullest inquiry that they can, to prove against me truly, that there 
is any woman in heaven or earth or hell, that can say I have at any time, in 
any place, by day or night, so much as attempted to be naught with them. 
And speak I thus to beg mine enemies into a good esteem of me 1 No, not 
I ! I will in this beg behef of no man. BeUeve, or disbelieve me in this, 'tis 
all a-case to me. My foes have missed their mark in this their shooting at 
me. I am not the man. I wish that they themselves be guiltless. If all the 
fornicators and adulterers in England were hanged up by the neck till they be 
dead, John Bunyan, the object of their envy would be still alive and well 
I know not whether there be such a thing as a woman breathing under the 
copes of heaven, but by their apparel, their children, or by common fame, 
except my wife." And " for a v?ind-up in this matter," calling again not only 
upon men, but angels to jrove him guilty if he be, and upon God for a record 
upon his soul that in thes ^ things Kf wec!- innocent, he savs, " not that I have 
2 



1-4 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN 

heen tl. s kept because of any goodness in me more than any other, but Go^ 
bas beei merciful to me, and has kept me " 

Bunyan married presently after his substitute had been killed at the siege 
of Leicester, probably therefore before he was nineteen. This he might have 
counted among his mercies, as he has counted it that he was led " to light 
upon a wife" whose father as she often told him, was a godly man who had 
been used to reprove vice both in his own house and among his neighbours, 
and had lived a strict and holy life both in word and deed. There was no im- 
prudence in this early marriage, though they " came together as poor as poor 
might be, not having so much household stuff as a dish or a spoon betwixt them 
both ;" for Bunyan had a trade to which he could trust, and the young woman 
had been trained up in the way she should go. She brought him for her por- 
tion two books which her father had left her at his death : " the Plain Man'i 
Pathway to Heaven" was one : the other was Bayly, Bishop of Bangor's 
*' Practice of Piety," which has been translated into Welsh, (the author's 
native tongue,) into Hungarian, and into Polish, and of which more than fifty 
editions were published m the course of a hundred years. These books he 
sometimes read with her ; and though they did not, he says, reach his heart to 
awaken it, yet they did beget within him some desires to reform his vicious 
life, and made him fall in eagerly with the religion of the times, to go to church 
twice a day with the foremost, and there very devoutly say and sing as others 
did ; — yet, according to his own account, retaining his wicked life. 

At this time Bunyan describes himself as having a most superstitious vene- 
ration for " the high place, priest, clerk, vestment, service, and what else, - 
belonging to the Church," counting the priest and clerk most happy and 
without doubt blessed because they were as he then thought the servants of 
God, yea, he could "have laid dovra at the feet of a priest, and have been 
trampled upon by them, their name, their garb and work, did so intoxicate 
and bewitch" him. The service it must be remembered, of which he speaks, 
was not the Liturgy of the Church of England, (which might not then be 
used even in any private family without subjecting them to the penalty of five 
pounds for the first offence, ten for the second, and a year's imprisonment for 
the third,) but what the meager directory of the victorious Puritans had sub- 
stituted for it, in which only the order of the service was prescribed, and all 
else left to the discretion of the minister. The first doubt which he felt in 
this stage of his progress, concerning his own prospect of salvation, was of a 
curious kind : hearing the Israelites called the peculiar people of God, it oc- 
curred to him that if he were one of that race, his soul must needs be safe ; 
having a great longing to be resolved about this question he asked his father 
at last, and the old tinker assuring him that he was not, put an end to his hopes 
on that score. 

One day the minister preached against Sabbath breaking, and Bunyan who 
used especially to follow his sports on Sundays, fell in conscience under that 
sermon, verily believing it was uitended for him, and feeling what guilt was, 
which he could not remember that he had ever felt before. Home he went 
iith a great burden upon his spirit ; but dinner removed that burden ; lu* 



LIFE OP JOHN BDNYAN 10 

animal spirits recovered from tneir depression ; he shook the scimon out of 
his mind, and away he went with great dehght to his old sports. The Puii- 
tans notwithstanding the outcry which they had raised against what is called 
the Book of Sports, found it necessary to tolerate such recreations on the 
Sabbath, but is it more remarkable to find a married man engaged in games 
which are now only practised by boys. Dinner had for a time prevailed ove/,^'^ 
that morning's sermon ; but it was only for a time ; the dinner sat easy upon 
him, the sermon did not ; and in the midst of a game of cat, as he was about 
to strike the cat from the hole, it seemed to him as if a voice from heaven 
suddenly darted into his soul and said. Wilt thou leave thy sins and go to 
heaven 1 Or have thy sins, and go to hell 1 *' At this," he continues, " I 
vv^as put to an exceeding maze : wherefore leaving my cat upon the ground, 
I looked up to heaven, and was as if I had with the eyes of my understand- 
ing, seen the Lord Jesus looking down upon me, as being very hotly displeas- 
ed with me, and as if he did severely threaten me with some grievous punish- 
ment for these and other ungodly practices." 

The voice he believed was from heaven, and it may be inferred from his 
relation that though he was sensible the vision was only seen with the mind's 
eye he deemed it not the less real. The effect was to fasten upon his spirit 
a sudden and dreadful conclusion that it was too late for him to turn away 
from his wickedness, for Christ would not forgive him ; he felt his heart sink 
in despair, and this insane reasoning past in his mind, *' My state is surely 
miserable ; miserable if I leave my sins, and but miserable if I follow them. 
I can but be damned ; and if I must be so, I had as good be damaed for many 
sins, as be damned for few." Thus he says, " I stood in the midst of my 
play, before all that were present, but yet I told them nothing ; but having made 
this conclusion, I returned desperately to my sport again. And I well remem- ' 
bcr that presently this kind of despair did so possess my soul, that I was 
persuaded I could never attain to other comfort than what I should get in sin : 
for heaven was gone already, so that on that I must not think. Wherefore I 
found within me great desire to take my fill of sin, still studying what sin was 
and yet to be committed, that I might taste the sweetness of it — lest I should 
die before I had my desires. In these things I protest before God I lie not : 
neither do I frame this sort of speech : these were really, strongly, and with 
all my heart, my desires. The good Lord whose mercy is unsearchable, for- 
give me my transgressions '" 

When thus faithfully describing the state of his feelings at that time, Bun- 
yan was not conscious that he exaggerated the character of his offences. 
Yet in another part of his writings he qualifies those offences more truly 
where he speaks of himself as having been addicted to " all manner of youthful 
vanities ;" and this relation itself is accompanied with a remark that it is a 
usual temptation of the devil " to overrun the spirits with a scurvy and 
seared frame of heait and benumning of conscience : so that though there be not 
much guilt attending the poor creatures who are thus tempted, " yet they con ■ 
tinually have a secret conclusion within them, that there is no hope for them." 
This state lasted with him little more than a month ; it then happened that as 



1(3 i.rrn of JOn\ rtjnyan. 

he stooi] at a ncignoours snop window, " cursing and swearing and playnig 
the inauman," after his wonted manner, the woman of the house heard him, 
and though she was (he says) a very loose and ungodly wretch she told him 
that he made her tremble to hear him ; '' that he was the ungodl'iest fellow for 
swearing that ever she heard in all her life ; and that by thus doing he was 
able to spoil all the youth in the whole town if they came but in his company." 
The reproof came with more efTect than if it had come from a better person : 
it silenced him, and put him to secret shame, and that too, as he thought, 
"before the God of heaven ;" wherefore, he says, "while I stood there, and 
hanging down my head, I wished with all my heart that I might be a little 
child again, that my father might leara me to speak without this wicked way 
of swearing ; for thought I, I am so accustomed to it, that it is vain for me 
to think of a reformation." From that hour however the reformation of this, 
the only actual sin to which he was addicted, began. Even to his own wonder 
it took place, and he who till then had not known how to speak unless he put an 
oath before and another behind to make his words have authority, discovered 
that he could speak better and more pleasantly without such expletives than 
he had ever done before. 

Soon afterward he fell in company with a poor man who talked to him 
concerning religion and the Scriptures in a manner which took his attention, 
and sent him to his bible. He began to take great pleasure in reading it, 
especially the historical parts ; the Epistles he says *'he could not away with, 
being as yet ignorant both of the corruption of our nature and of the want and 
worth of Christ to save us." And this produced such a change in his whole 
deportment, that his neighbours took him to be a new man, and were amazed 
at his conversation from prodigious profaneness to a moral and religious life. 
They began to speak well of him, both to his face and behind his back, and he 
was well pleased at having obtained, and as he thought, deserved, their good 
opinion. And yet, he says, " I was nothing but a poor painted hypocrite — I 
did all I did either to be seen of, or to be well spoken of by men — I knew 
not Christ, nor grace, nor faith, nor hope ; and as I have well seen since, had 
I then died, my state had been most fearful." 

Bunyan had formerly taken great delight in bell ringing; but now that his 
conscience "began to be tender," he thought it "a vain practice," in other 
words a sm ; yet he so hankered after this his old exercise, that though he 
durst not pull a rope himself, he would go and look at the ringers, not without 
a secret feeling that to do so was unbecoming the religious character which 
he now professed. A fear came upon him that one of the bells might fall ; to 
secure himself against such an accident, he stood under a beam that 'ay 
athwart the steeple, from side to side : but his apprehensions being orxe 
awakened he then considered that the bell might fall with a swing, hit the 
wall first, rebound, and so strike him in its descent. Upon this, he retired to 
the 'steeple door, and thinking himself safe enough there,' for if the bell should 
fall he could slip out. Further than the door he did not venture, nor did he 
long continue to think himself secure there ; for the next fancy which possess- 
ed him was that the steeple itself might fall ; and this so possessed him and 6® 



LIFE OP JOHN BUNYAN 17 

shook hi mind, that he dared not stand at the door longer, but fled for fear 
the tower should come down upon him — to such a state of nervous weakness 
had a diseased feeling brought his strong body and strong mind. — The last 
amusement from which ne weaned himself was that of dancing : it was a full year 
before he could quite leave that : but m so doing, and in any thing in which 
he thought he was performing his duty, he had such peace of mind, such sat" 
faction, that — " to relate it," he says, *' in mine own way, I thought no ma) 
in England could please God better than I. — Poor wretch as I was, I was a' 
this while ignorant of Jesus Christ, and going about to establish my own 
righteousness, and had perished therein, had not God in mercy showed me 
more of my state by nature." 

Mr. Scott in the life of Bunyan prefixed to his edition of the Pilgrim's 
Progress says it is not advisable to recapitulate those impressions which con- 
stitute a large part of his religious experience. But Bunyan's character 
would be imperfectly understcad, and could not be justly appreciated, if this 
part of his history were kept out of sight. To respect him as he deserves, to 
admire him as he ought to be admired, it is necessary that we should be inform- 
ed not only of the coarseness and brutahty of his youth, but of the extreme 
ignorance out of which he worked his way, and the stage of burning enthu- 
siasm through which he passed — a passage not less terrible than that of his 
own Pilgrim in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. His ignorance, like the 
brutal manners from which he had now been reclaimed, was the consequence 
of his low station in life, but the enthusiasm which then succeeded was 
brought on by the circumstances of an age in which hypocrisy was pregnant; 
and fanaticism rampant throughout the land. *' We intended not," says Bax- 
ter, " to dig down the banks, or pull up the hedge and lay all waste and com- 
mon, when we desired the prelates' tyranny might cease." No : for the 
intention had been under the pretext of abating one tyranny, to establish a 
far severer and more galling in its steady in doing this the banks had been 
thrown down, and the hedge destroyed and while the bestial herd who broke 
in rejoiced in the havoc, Baxter and other such erring though good men stood 
marvelling at the mischief which never could have been effected, if they had 
not mainly assisted in it. The wildest opinions of every kind were abroad, 
*' divers and strange doctrines," with every wind of which, men having no 
longer an anchor whereby to hold, were carried about and tossed to and fro. 
They passed with equal facihty from strict puritanism to the utmost license 
of practical and theoretical impiety, as antinomians or as atheists ; and from 
extreme profligacy to extreme superstition in any of its forms. The poor man 
oy whose conversation Bunyan was first led into " some love and liking of 
religion," and~mduced to read the Bible and to delight m it, became a ranter, 
wallowed in his sins as one who was secure in his privilege of election, and 
finally havmg corrupted his heart, nerverted his reason and seared his con- 
science, laughed at his former professions, persuaded himself that there was 
neither a future state for man, nor a God to punish or to save him, and told 
Bunyan that he had gone through all religions, and in this persuasion had fall- 
en upon the right at last ' 

2* 



18 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

Some of the Ranters' books wore put into Bunyan's hands. Then: eflfect 
was to perplex hina : he read them, and thought upon them, and betook him- 
self properly and earnestly thus to prayer: — " Lord, I am not able to know 
the truth from error : leave me not to my own blindness, cither to approve of, 
or condemn this doctnne. If it be of God, let me not despise it ; if it be of the 
devil, let me not embrace it. Lord, I lay my soul in this matter only at thy 
feet ; let me not be deceived, I humbly beseech thee !" And he was not 
deceived ; for though he fell in with many persons who from a strict profes- 
sion of religion had persuaded themselves that having now attained to the 
perfection of the saints, they were discharged from all obligations of morality, 
and nothing which it might please them to do would be accounted to them as 
sin, neither their evil arguments nor their worse example infected him. " Oh," 
he says, " these temptations were suitable to my flesh, I being but a young 
man, and my nature in its prime ; but God, who had, as I hope, designed 
me for better things, kept me in fear of his name, and did not suffer me to 
accept such cursed principles. And blessed be God who put it in my heart to 
cry to him to be Kept and directed, still distrusting my own wisdom." 

These people could neither corrupt his conscience nor impose upon his 
understanding ; he had no sympathies with them. But one day when he was 
tinkering in the streets of Bedford, he overheard three or four poor women, 
who as they sat at a door in the sunshine were conversing about their own 
spiritual state. He was himself " a brisk talker in the matter of religion," 
but these persons were in their discourse " far above his reach." Their talk 
was about a new birth — how they were convinced of their miserable state by 
nature — how God had visited their souls with his love in the Lord Jesus — 
with what words and promises they had been refreshed and supported against 
the temptations of the Devil — ^how they had been afflicted under the assaults 
of the enemy, and how they had been borne up ; and of their own wretched- 
ness of heart, and of their unbelief, and the insufficiency of their own righteous- 
ness. " Methought," says Bunyan, " they spake, as if you did make them 
speak. They spake such pleasantness of Scripture language, and with such 
appearance of grace in all they said, that they were to me as if they had 
found a new world, as if they were 'people that dwelt alone, and were not to 
be reckoned among their neighbours.' " He felt his own heart shake as he 
heard them ; and when he turned away and went about his employment again, 
their talk went with him, for he had heard enough to convince him that he 
'' wanted the true tokens of a true godly man," and to convince him also of 
ehe blessed condition of him that was indeed one. 

He made it his business therefore frequently to seek the conversation of 
these women. They were members of a small Baptist congregation which a 
Kentish man, John Gifford by name, had formed st Bedford. Gifford's history 
is remarkable ; he had been a major m the kmg'a army, and continuing true to 
the cause after the ruin of his party, engaged in the insurrection of his loyal 
countrymen, for which he and eleven others were condemned to the gallows. 
On the night before the intended execution his sister came to visit him : she 
found the sentinels who kept the door asleep, and she urged him to take the 



:.IFE OF JOHN nUNYAxN. 19 

opportunity of escaping, which he alone of the prisoners was able to attempt, 
for his companions had stupified themselves with drink. Gifford passed safely 
through the sleeping guard, got into the field, lay there some three days in a 
ditch till the great search for him was over, then by the help of his friends 
was conveyed in disguise to London, and afterw^ard into Bedfordshire, where 
as long as the danger continued he was harboured by certain royalists of rank 
in that county. When concealment was no longer necessary, he came as a 
Btranger to Bedford and there practised physic : for in those days they who 
took upon themselves the cure of bodies seem to have entered upon their prac- 
tice with as little scruple concerning their own qualifications for it, as they 
who undertook the cure of souls : if there was but a sufficient stock of bold- 
ness to begin with, it sufficed for the one that they were needy, for the others 
that they were enthusiastic 

Gifford was at that time leading a profligate and reckless life, like many of 
his fellow-sufferers whose fortunes had been wrecked in the general calamity : 
he was a great drinker, a gambler, and oaths came from his lips with habitual 
profaneness. Some of his actions indeed are said to have evinced as much 
Extravagance of mind, as wickedness of heart ; and he hated the puritans so 
Heartily for the misery which they had brought upon the nation, and upon him- 
self in particular, that he often thought of killing a certain Anthony Harring- 
ton for no other provocation than because he was a leading man among per- 
sons of that description in Bedford. For a heart and mind thus diseased 
there is but one cure ; and that cure was vouchsafed at a moment when his 
bane seemed before him. He had lost one night about fifteen pounds in 
gambling, a large sum for one so circumstanced ; the loss made him furious, 
and "many desperate thoughts against God" arose in him, when looking into 
one of the books of Robert Bolton, what he read in it startled him into a sense 
of his own condition. He continued some weeks under the weight of that 
feeling ; and when it past away, it left him in so exalted and yet so happy a 
state of mind, that/rom that time till within a few days of his death, he de- 
clared — "he lost not the light of God's countenance — no not for an hour." 
And now he inquired after the meetings of the persons whom he had former- 
ly most despised, and^" being naturally bold, would thrust himself again and 
again into their company, both together and apart." They at first regarded 
him with jealousy ; nor when they were persuaded that he was sincere, did 
they readily encourage him in his desire to preach ; nor after he had made 
himself acceptable as a preacher, both in private and public trials, were they 
forward to form themselves into a distinct congregation under his care, " the 
more ancient professors being used to live, as some other good men of those 
times, without regard to such separate and close communion." At length 
eleven persons, of whom Anthony Harrington was one, came to that deter 
mination and chose him for their pastor ; the principle upon which they enter- 
ed into this fellowship one with another, and afterward admitted those who 
should desire to jom them, being faith in Christ and holiness of life, without 
respect to any difference in outward or circumstantial things. 

The poor women whose company Bunyan sought after he had listened to 



\iO LJFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

their talk, were members of Gjfford's little flock. The first effect of IkS 
conversation with them was that he began to look into the Bible with new 
eyes, and "indeed was never out of it," either by reading or meditation. He 
now took delight in St. Paul's epistles, which before he " could not away 
with ;" and the first strong impression which they made upon him was tnat 
he wanted the gifts of wisdom and knowledge of which the apostle speaks, 
and was doubtful whether he had faith or not ; yet this was a doubt which he 
could not bear, being certain that if he were without faith, he must perish. 
Being " put to his plunge" about this, and not as yet consulting with any- 
one, he conceived that the only means by which he could be certified was by 
trying to work a miracle, a delusion which he says the tempter enforced and 
strengthened by urging upon him those texts of scripture that seemed to look 
that way. One day as he was between Elstow and Bedford the temptation 
was hot upon him that he should put this to the proof by saying *' to the 
puddles tliat were in the horse-pads, be dry; and to the dry places he ye "pud- 
dles ! And truly one time I was going to say so indeed ; but just as I was 
about to speak, this thought came in my mind, ' but go under yonder hedge, 
and pray first that God would make you able.' But when I had concluded to 
pray, this came hot upon me, that if I prayed, and came again, and tried to do 
it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, then to be sure I had no faith, but was 
a cast-away, and lost. Nay thought I, if it be so, I will not try yet, but will 
stay a little longer." 

About this time the happiness of his poor acquaintance whom he believed 
to be in a sanctified state v^^as presented to him, he says, in a kind of vision — 
that is, it became the subject of a revery, a waking dream — in which the 
germe of the Pilgrim's Progress may plainly be perceived, *'I saw," he says, 
" as if they were on the sunny side of some high mountain, there refreshing 
themselves with the pleasant beams of the sun, while I was shivering and 
shrinking in the cold, afflicted with frost, snow and dark clouds. Methought 
also betwixt me and them, 1 saw a wall that did compass about this mountain ; 
now through this wall my soul did greatly desire to pass ; concluding that if 
I could, I would even go into the very midst of them, and there also comfort 
myself with the heat of their sun. About this wall I thought myself to go 
again and again, still prying as I went, to see if I could find some way or 
passage, by which I might enter therein ; but none could I find for some time. 
At the last I saw, as it were, a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the wall, 
through which I attempted to pass. Now the passage being very strait and 
narrow, I made many offers to get in, but all in vain, even until I was well 
nigh quite beat out by striving to get in. At last, with great striving, me- 
thought I first did get in my head ; and after that, by a sideling striving, my 
shoulders, and my whole body : then was I exceeding glad, went and sat 
down in the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and heat of 
their sun. Now the mountain and wall, &c. was thus made out to me. The 
mountain signified the church of the living God ; the sun that shone thereon, 
the comfortable shining of his merciful face on them that were within : the 
wall, I thought, was the world, that did make separation between the Chris- 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 21 

tians and the world : and the gap which was in the wall, I thought, was Jesus 
Christ, who is the wav to God the Father. But forasmuch as the passage was 
wonderful narrow, even so narrow, that I could not but with great difficulty- 
enter in thereat, it showed me that none could enter into life, but those that were 
in downright earnest ; and unless also they left that wicked world behind them ; 
for here was only room for body and soul, but not for body and soul and sin." 

But though he now prayed wherever he was, at home or abroad, in the 
house or in the field, two doubts still assaulted him, whether he was elected, 
and whether the day of grace was not gone by. By the force and power of 
the first he felt, even when he " was in a flame to find the way to heaven," 
as if the strength of his body were taken from him ; and he found a stum- 
bling block in this text, " it is neither in him that willeth, nor in him that run- 
neth, but in God that showeth mercy."* It seemed to him that though he 
should desire and long and labour till his heart broke, no good could come of 
it, unless he were a chosen vessel of mercy. " Therefore," he says, " this 
would stick me, ' how can you tell that you are elected 1 and what if you 
should not? — Lord, thought I, what if I should not indeed ! It may be 
you are not, said the tempter. It may be so indeed, thought I. Why then, 
said Satan, you had as good leave off, and strive no farther." And then the 
text that disturbed him came again into his mind : and he knowing not what 
to say nor how to answer, was " driven to his v/it's end, little deeming," he 
says, " that Satan had thus assaulted him, but that it was his own prudence 
which had started the question." In an evil hour were the doctrines of the 
gospel sophisticated with questions which should have been left in the schools? 
for those who are unwise enough to employ themselves in excogitations of 
useless subtlety ! Many are the poor creatures whom such questions have 
driven to despair and madness, and suicide ; and no one ever more narrowly 
escaped from such a catastrophe than Bunyan. 

After many weeks when he was even *' giving up the ghost of all his 
hopes," another text suddenly occurred to him : " Look at the generations of 
old, and see, did ever any trust in the Lord, and was confounded 1" He weni, 
with a lightened heart to his Bible, fully expecting to find it there ; but 
he found it not — and the "good people" whom he asked where it was, told 
him they knew of no such place. But in the Bible he was well assured it 
was, and the text which had " seized upon his heart with such comfort anil 
strength" abode upon him, for more than a year ; when looking into the 
Apocrypha, theref he met with it, and was at first he says somewhat daunted 
at finding it there — not in the canonical books. " Yet," he says, " forasmuch 
as this sentence was the sum and substance of many of the promises, it was 
my duty to take the comfort of it ; and I blessed God for that word, for it was 
of good to me." But then the other doubt which had lain dormant, 
awoke again in strength — "how if the day of grace be pasf? "What if the 
good people of Bedford who were already converted, were all that were to be 
saved in those parts 1" he then was too late, for they had got the blessing 
before he came 1 •' Oh that I had turned sooner." was then his cry ; " Ob 
• Romans, ix. 16. 2 Ecclesiasticus, ii. 10. t Eccleshsticns ii. 30. 



22 LIFE OF JOHN EUNYAN. 

that I had turned seven years ago ! To think that I should trifle away my 
time, till my soul and heaven were lost !" 

From these fears the recurrence of another passage in Scripture delivered 
him for a while, and he has remarked that it came into his mind just in the 
same place where he " received his other encouragement." The text was 
that in which the servant who had been sent into the streets and lanes to bring 
in the poor, and maimed and the halt and the blind to the supper from which 
the bidden guests absented themselves, returns and says to the master of the 
house, " Lord, it is done as thou hast commanded, and yet there is room /"* 
"These," says Bunyan, "were sweet words to me truly I thought that by 
them I saw there was place enough in heaven for me ; and moreover that 
when the Lord Jesus did speak these words, he then did think of me ; and 
that he, knowing the time would come when I should be afflicted with fear 
that there was no place left for me in his bosom, did speak this word, and 
leave it upon record, that I might find help thereby against this vile temptation 
This I then verily believed." 

But then came another fear ; None but those who are called, can inherit 
the kingdom of heaven ; — and this he apprehended was not his case. With 
longings and breathings in his soul which, he says, are not to be expressed, he 
cried on Christ to call him, being " all on a flame" to be in a converted state ; 
" Gold ! could it have been gotten for gold, what could I have given for it ! 
Had I had a whole world it had all gone ten thousand times over for this." 
Much as he had formerly respected and venerated the ministers of the church, 
with higher admiration he now regarded those who, he thought, had attained 
to the condition for which he was longing. They were "lovely in his eyes ; 
they shone, they walked, like a people that carried the broad seal of heaven 
about them." When he read of those whom our Saviour called when he 
was upon earth, to be his disciples, the wishes which his heart conceived 
were — " Would I had been Peter : — would I had been John : — or would I 
had been by and heard him when he called them ! How would I have cried, 
O Lord call me also !" In this state of mind, but comforting himself with 
hoping that if he were not already converted, the time might come when he 
should be so, he imparted his feelings to those poor women whose conversa- 
tion had first brought him into these perplexities and struggles. They report- 
ed his case to Mr. Giffbrd, and GifFord took occasion to talk with him, and 
mvited him to his house, where he might hear him confer with others " about 
the dealings of God with their souls." 

This course was little likely to compose a mind so agitated. What he 
heard in such conferences rather induced fresh disquiet, and misery of another 
kind. The inward wretchedness of his wicked heart, he says, began to be 
discovered to him, and to work as it had never done before ; he was now 
conscious of sinful thoughts and desires which he had not till then regarded ; 
and in persuading him that his heart was innately and wholly wicked, his 
spiritual physician had well nigh made him believe that it was hopelessly and 
incurably so. In vam did those to whom he applied for consolation tell him 
• Luke xiv. 22. 



LIFE OF JOHIM BUNYAN. 23 

ot the promises ; they might as well have told him to reach the sun, as to reiy 
upon the promises, he says ; original and inward pollution was the plague and 
affliction which made him loathsome in his own eyes — and as in his dreadful 
state of mind he believed, in the eyes of his Creator also ! Sin and corrup- 
tion, he thought, would as naturally bubble out of his heart as water from a 
fountain. None but the devil he was persuaded could equal him for inward 
wickedness ! '• Sure," thought he, " I am forsaken of God ; sure I am given 
up to the devil and to a reprooate mind. — I was sorry that God had made me 
man. — I counted myself alone, and above the most of men unblessed !" 
These were not the torments of a guilty conscience : for he observes that 
" the guilt of the sins of his ignorance was never much charged upon him ;" 
and as to the act of sinning, during the years that he continued in this pitiable 
state, no man could more scrupulously avoid what seemed to him sinful in 
thought, word or deed. " On," he says, *' how gingerly did I then go, in all 
I did or said ! I found myself as in a miry bog, that shook if I did but stir, 
and was as there left both of God and Christ, and the spirit, and all good 
things." False notions of that corruption of our nature which it is almost as 
perilous to exaggerate as to dissemble, had laid upon him a burden heavy as 
that with which his own Christian begins his pilgrimage. 

The first comfort which he received, and which had there not been a mist 
before his understanding he might have found in every page of the gospel, 
came to him in a sermon, upon a strange text, strangly handled : " Behold 
thou art fair, my love ; behold thou art fair !"* The preacher made the words 
" my love" his chief and subject matter ; and one sentence fastened upon 
Bunyan's mind. " If," said the preacher, " it be so, that the saved soul is 
Christ's love, when under temptation and destruction ; — then poor tempted 
soul, when thou art assaulted and afflicted with temptations, and the hidings 
of God's face, yet think on these two words, ' My Love,'' still !" — What shall 
I get by thinking on these two words 1 — said Bunyan to himself, as he return- 
ed home ruminating upon this discourse. And then twenty times together — 
" thou art my love, thou art my love," recurred in mental repetition, kindling, 
his spirit ; and still, he says, *' as they ran in my mind they waxed stronger 
and warmer, and began to make me look up. But being as yet between hope 
and fear, I still replied in my heart, 'but is it true"? but is it truel' At 
which that sentence fell upon me, ' He wist not that it was true which was 
come unto him of the Angel. 'f Then I began to give place to the word — 
and now I could believe that my sins should be forgiven me : yea I was now 
taken with the love and mercy of God, that I remember, I could not tell how 
to contain till I got home : I thought I could have spoken of his love, and 
have told of his mercy to me, even to the very crows that sat upon the 
ploughed lands before me, had they been capable to have understood me. — 
Wherefore I said in my soul with much gladness, well, I would I had a pen 
and ink here, I would write this down before I go any farther, for surely 1 
will not forget this forty years hence. But alas ! within less than forty days I 
; to question all again !" 

• Solomoii'3 Song iv. 1. + Acts xii. 9. 



24 LIFE OF JOHiN BUNYAN. • 

Shaken continually thus by the hot and cold fits of a spiritual ague, his 
imagination was wrought to a state of excitement in which its own shapings 
became vivid as realities, and affected him more forcibly than impressions 
from the external world. He heard sounds as in a dream ; and as in a dream 
held conversations which were inwardly audible though no sounds were utter> 
ed, and had all the connexion and coherency of an actual dialogue. Reati. 
they were to him in the impression which they made, and in their lasting 
effect ; and even afterward, when his soul was at peace, he believed them, in 
cool and sober reflection, to have been more than natural. Some few days 
after the sermon, he was much " followed," he says, by these words of the 
gospel, " Simon, Simon, behold Satan hath desired to have you !"* He knew 
that it was a voice from within — and yet it was so articulately distinct, so 
loud, and called as he says so strongly after him, that once in particular when 
the words Simon ! Simon ! rung in his ears he verily thought some man had 
called to him from a distance behind, and though it was not his name, sup- 
posed nevertheless that it was addressed to him, and looked round suddenly 
to see by whom. As this had been the loudest, so it was the last time that 
the call sounded in his ears ; and he imputes it to his ignorance and foolishness 
at that time, that he knew not the reason of it ; for soon, he says, he was feel- 
ingly convinced that it was sent from heaven as an alarm, for him to provide 
against the coming storm — a storm which " handled him twenty times worse 
than all he had met with before." 

Fears concerning his own state had been the trouble with which he had 
hitherto contended ; temptations of a different, and. even more distressful kind 
assailed him now — blasphemies and suggestions of unbelief, which when he 
recorded the history of his own soul, he might not and dared not utter, either 
by word or pen ; and no other shadow of consolation could he find against 
them, than in the consciousness that there was something in him that gave no 
consent to the sin. He thought himself surely possessed by the Devil ; ht 
was "bound in the wings of the temptation, and the wind v^'ould carry hhv. 
away." When he heard others talk of the sin against the Holy Ghost, dio- 
coursing what it might be, " then would the tempter," he says, " provoke me to 
desire to sin that sin, that I was as if I could not, must not, neither should be 
quiet until I had committed it : — ^no sin would serve but that. If it were to 
be committed by speaking of such a word, then I have been as if my 
mouth would have spoken that word, whether I would or no. And in so 
strong a measure was this temptation upon me, that often I have been ready 
to clap my hands under my chin, to hold my mouth from opening : and to that 
end also I have had thoiights at other times, to leap with my head downward 
into some muckhill-hole or other, to keep my mouth from speaking." Gladly 
now would he have been in the condition of the beasts that perish, for he 
counted the estate of every thing that God had made far better than liis own, 
such as it had now become. While this lasted, which was about a year, he 
was most distracted when attending the service of his meeting, or reading the 
Scriptures, or when in prayer. He imagined that at such times he felt the 
* Luke xxii. 31. 



«>.IFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 



25 



enemy behind him pulling his clothes ; that he was " continjially at him, to 
have done ; — ^break off — make haste — ^you have prayed enough !" The more 
he strove to compose his mind and fix it upon God the more did the tempter 
labour to distract and confound it, "by presenting," says he, " to my heart 
and fancy the form of a bush, a bull, a besom, or the like, as if I should pray 
to these. To these he would also (at some times especially) so hold my 
mind, that I was as if I could think of nothing else, or pray to nothing else 
but to these, or such as they." Wickeder thoughts were sometimes cast in — 
such as " if thou wilt fall down and worship me !"* 

But while Bunyan suffered thus grievously under the belief that these 
thoughts and fancies were the immediate suggestions of the evil spirit, that 
belief made him at times more passionate in prayer , and then his heart " put 
forth itself with inexpressible groaning," and his whole soul was in every 
word. And although he had been taught in childhood to lay up the comfort- 
able promises of the gospel in his heart and in his soul, that they might be as 
a sign upon his hand and as a frontlet between his eyes, yet he had not read 
the Bible so diligently without some profit. When he mused upon these words 
in the Prophet Jeremiah, " thou hast played the harlot with many lovers, yet, 
return again to me, saith the Lord ;"t he felt that they were some support to 
him, as applying to his case ; and so also was that saying of the same Prophet, 
that though we have done and spoken as evil things as we could, yet 
shall we cry unto God, "My Father, thou art the guide of my youth V't and 
return unto him. More consolation he derived from the Apostle who says, 
" he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made 
the righteousness of God in him."§ And again, " if God be for us, who can 
be against us T'li And again, " for I am persuaded that neither death nor life, 
nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to 
come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate 
us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."^ This also was 
a help to him " because I love, ye shall love also !"** These, he says, were 
" but hints, touches and short visits ; very sweet when present, only they 
lasted not." Yet after a while he felt himself not only delivered from the 
guilt which these things laid upon his conscience, " but also from the very 
filth thereof;" the temptation was removed, and he thought himself " put into 
his right mind again." 

At this time he " sat (in puritanical language) under the ministry of holy 
IVTr. Giffordj" and to his doctrine he ascribed in some degree this mental con 
valescence. But that doctrine was of a most perilous kind for the preacher 
exhorted his hearers not to be contented with taking any truth upon trust, nor 
to rest till they had received it with evidence from heaven ; — that is, till their 
beliftf should be confirmed by a particular revelation ! without this, he warned 
them, they would find themselves wanting in strength when temptation came. 
This was a doctrine which accorded well with Bunyan's ardent temperament ; 
unless he had it with evidence from heaven, let men say what they would, 

• Matthew iv. 9. t m. i. t lb. v. 4. § 2 Corinth, v. 21. 

B Romans, viii. 31. H lb. 38. 39. •* John xiv. 19. 

3 



25 LIJ^E OF JOHN EUNYAN. 

all was nothing to him, so apt was he " to drink in the doctrine and to pray," 
he says, " to God that in nothing which pertained to God's glory and his own 
eternal happiness he would suffer him to be without the confirmation thereof 
from heaven." That confirmation he believed was granted him ; *' Oh," 
he exclaims, " now, how was my soul led from truth to truth by God ! — there 
was not any thing that I then cried unto God to make known and reveal unto 
me but he was pleased to do it for me !" He had now an evidence, as he 
thought, of his salvation, from heaven, with golden seals appendant, hanging 
in his sight : he, who before had lain trembling at the mouth of hell, had now 
as it were the gate of heaven in full view : " Oh !" thought he, " that I were 
now fourscore years old, that I might die quickly — that my soul might be 
gone to rest!" And his desire and longings were that the last day were 
come, after which he should eternally enjoy in beatific vision the presence of 
that Almighty and all-merciful Saviour who had offered up himself, an all- 
sufficient sacrifice for sinners. 

While Bunyan was in this state, a translation of Luther's Commentary on 
the Epistle to the Galatians fell into his hands, an old book, so tattered and 
thumb-worn, "that it was ready to fall piece from piece if he did but turn it 
over." Here in the work of that passionate and mighty mind, he saw his 
own soul reflected as in a glass. " I had but a little way perused it," he says, 
" when I found my condition in his experience so largely and profoundly 
handled as if his book had been written out of my heart." And in later life, 
he thought it his duty to declare that he preferred this book of Martin Luther 
before all the books he had ever seen, (the Bible alone excepted,) as fittest for 
a wounded conscience 
■/ Mr. Coleridge has delineated, with his wonted andpeculiar ability, the strong 
resemblance between Luther and Rousseau, men who to ordinary observers 
would appear in the constitution of their minds, most unlike each other. . In 
different stages of his mental and spiritual growth, Bunyan had resembled 
both ; like Rousseau he had been tempted to set the question of his salvation 
upon a cast; like Luther he had undergone the agonies of unbelief and 
deadly fear, and according to his own persuasion, wrestled with the enemy. 1 
know not whether any parallel is to be found for him in the next and strongest 
part of his history ; for now when he was fully convinced that his faith had 
been confirmed by special evidence from heaven — when his desire was to die 
and be with Christ — an almost unimaginable temptation which he might well 
call more grievous and dreadful than any with which he had before been afllicted, 
came upon him ; it was " to sell and part with Christ — to exchange him for 
the things of this life — for any thing :" for the space of a year he was haunted 
by this strange and hateful suggestion, and so continually that he was " not 
rid of it one day in a month, nor sometimes one hour in many succeeding 
days," unless in his sleep. It intermixed itself with whatever he thought or did. 
" I could neither eat my food," he says, " stoop for a pin, chop a stick, or 
cast mine eye to look on this or that, but still the temptation would come, * sell 
Christ for this, or sell Christ for that ; sell him, sell him, sell him !' Sometimes it 
would run in my thoughts not so little as a hundred times together, 'sell him . 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 27 

sell him, sell him, sell him !' Against which, I may say, for whole hours together, 
I have been forced to stand as continually leaning and forcing my spirit against 
it, lest haply, before I were aware, some wicked thought might arise in my 
heart, that might consent thereto : and sometimes the tempter would make me 
believe I had consented to it ; but then should I be tortured upon a rack for 
whole days together. This temptation did put me to such scares — that by 
the very force of my mind, in labouring to gainsay and resist this wickedness, 
my very body would be put into action — ^by way of pushing or thrusting with 
my hands or elbows, still answering as the destroyer said ' sell Him ;' 'I will 
not ! I will not ! I will not ! no, not for thousands, thousands, thousands of 
worlds !' and thus till I scarce knew where I was, or how to be composed 
again." 

This torment was accompanied with a prurient scrupulosity which Eunyan 
when he became his own biographer looked back upon as part of the same 
temptation proceeding immediately from the Evil One : " he would not let me 
eat at quiet, but forsooth when I was set at the table, I must go thence to pray ; 
I must leave my food now, and just now — so counterfeit holy would this 
devil be ! When I was thus tempted, I would say in myself ' now I am at 
meat, let me make an end.' 'No,' said he, ' you must do it now, or you will 
displease God and despise Christ.' " Thus was he distracted, imagining 
these things to be impulses from God, and that to withstand them was to 
disobey the Almighty ; "and then," says he, "should I be as guilty because 
I did not obey a temptation of the Devil as if I had broken the law of God 
indeed !" 

In this strange state of mind he nad continued about a year when one morn- 
ing as he lay in bed, the wicked suggestion still running in his mind, " sell 
Him, sell him, sell him, sell him," as fast as a man could speak, and he 
answering as fast, " no, no, not for thousands, thousands, thousands," till he 
was almost out of breath — he felt this thought pass through his heart, " let 
Him go if he will," and it seemed to him that his heart freely consented thereto. 
" Oh," he exclaims, " the diligence of Satan ! Oh the desperateness of man's 
heart ! Now was the battle won, and down fell I, as a bird that is shot, from 
the top of a tree, into great guilt and fearful despair. Thus getting out of 
my bed I went moping into the field, but God knows with as heavy a heart as 
mortal man I think could bear ; where for the space of two hours I was like 
a man bereft of life, and as now, past all recovery, and bound over to eternal 
punishment." Then it occurred to him what is said of Esau by the author 
of the Epistle to the Hebrews, now having sold his birthright when he would 
afterward have inherited the blessing, he was rejected; for "he found no 
place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears."* At the recol- 
lection of a better text,* the words of that disciple (blessed above all men) 
whom Jesus loved, he had for a while such relief that he began to conceive 
peace in his soul again, " and methought," says he, " I saw as if the tempter 
did leer and steal away from me as being ashamed of what he had done." 
But this was only like a passing gleam of sunshine : the sound of EsaAi's fate 
• xii. 16. 17. t John i. 7 



28 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

was always in his ears ; his case was worse than Esau's, worse than David's ; m 
Peter's came nigher to it ; yet Peter's was only a denial of his master, this a ^' 
selling of his Saviour : — he came nearer therefore to Judas than to Peter ! 
And though he was yet sane enough to consider that the sin of Judas had 
been deliberately committed, whereas his on the contrary, was " against his 
prayer and striving — in a fearful hurry, on a sudden," the relief which that 
consideration brought was but little, and only for a while. The sentence 
concerning Esau, literally taken more unhappily applied, fell like a hot thun- 
derbolt upon his conscience ; " then should I, for whole days together feel my 
very body, as well as my mind, to shake and totter under the sense of this 
dreadful judgment of God ; — such a clogging and heat also at my stomacL. 
by reason of this my terror, that I was sometimes as if my breast-bone would 
split asunder." And then he called to mind how Judas burst asunder ; and 
feared that a continual trembling like his was the very mark that had been 
set on Cain ; and thus did he " twist and twine and shrink" under a burden 
which so oppressed him that he could " neither stand nor go, nor lie, either at 
rest or- quiet." 

This fatal sentence possessed him so strongly that when thinking on the 
words in Isaiah, "I have blotted out as a thick cloud thy transgressions, and 
as a cloud thy sins ; return unto me, for I have redeemed thee !"* — and when 
it seemed to his diseased imagination that this text called audibly and loudly 
after him, as if pursuing him, so loudly as to make him, he says, look as it 
wefe, over his shoulder, behind him, to see if the God of grace were follow- 
ing him with a pardon in his hand ; — the echo of the same sentence still 
sounded in his conscience ; and when be heard " Return unto me, for I have 
redeemed thee, return, return !" articulated as it seemed to him with a loud 
voice — it was overpowered by the inward echo, " he found no place of repent- 
ance, though he sought it carefully with tears." 

How little would some of the most frequent and contagious disorders of 
the human mind be understood, if a sufferer were not now and then found 
collected enough, even in the paroxysms of the disease to observe its symptoms, 
and detail them afterward, and reason upon them when in a state to discrimi- 
nate between what had been real and what imaginary. Bunyan was never 
wholly in that state. He noted faithfully all that occurred in his reveries, 
and faithfully reported it ; but there was one thing happened at this time, 
which after an interval of twenty years, appeared to him, who was accustomed 
to what he deemed preternatural impressions, so much more preternatural 
than all his former visitings, that he withheld it from the first relation of his 
own life, and in a later and more enlarged account narrated it so cautiously as 
to imply more than he thought it prudent to express. " Once," he says, " as 
I was walking to and fro in a good man's shop, bemoaning of myself in my 
sad and doleful state ; afflicting myself with self-abhorrence for this wicked 
and ungodly thought ; lamenting also this hard hap of mine, for that I should 
commit so great a sin ; greatly fearing I should not be pardoned ; praying also 
in my heart, that if this sin of mine did differ from that against the Holy 
• xliv. 22. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 29 

Ghost, the Lord would show it to me ; and being now ready to sink with fear ; 
suddenly there was, as if there had rushed in at the window, the noise of 
wind upon me, but very pleasant, and as if I heard a voice speaking, ' Didst 
ever refuse to be justified by the blood of Christ? And withal my whole 
life of profession past was, in a moment opened to me, wherein I was made 
to see that designedly I had not. So my heart answered groaningly, *no!' 
Then fell with power, that word of God upon me, ' See that ye refuse not 
Him that speaketh !'* This made a strange seizure upon my spirit ; it brought 
light with it, and commanded a silence in my heart of all those tumultuous 
thoughts that before did use, like masterless hell-hounds, to roar and bellow 
and make a hideous noise within me. It showed me also that Jesus Christ 
had yet a word of grace and mercy for me ; that he had not, as I had feared, 
quite forsaken and cast off my soul. Yea, this was a kind of chide for my 
proneness to desperation ; a kind of threatening of me, if I did not, notwith- 
standing my sins and the heinousness of them, venture my salvation upon the 
Son of God. But as to my determining about this strange dispensation, what 
it was, I know not ; or from whence it came, I know not ; I have not yet in 
twenty years time been able to make a judgment of it ; / thought then here 
what I should he loath to speak. But verily that sudden rushing wind was as if 
an angel had come upon me : but both it and the salvation, I will leave until 
the Day of Judgment. Only this I say, it commanded a great calm in my 
soul ; it persuaded me there might be hope ; it showed me, as I thought, what 
the sin unpardonable was ; and that my soul had yet the blessed privilege to 
flee to Jesus Christ for mercy. But, I say, concerning this dispensation, I 
know not what yet to say unto it ; which was also in truth the cause that at 
first I did not speak of it in the book. I do now also leave it to be thought 
on by men of sound judgment. I lay not the stress of my salvation 
thereupon, but upon the Lord Jesus, in the promise : yet seeing I am here 
unfolding of my secret things, I thought it might not be altogether inexpedient 
to let this also show itself, though I cannot now relate the matter as there T 
did experience it." 

The " savour" of this lasted about three or four days, and then he began to 
mistrust and to despair again ! Struggling nevertheless against despair, he 
determined that if he must die it should be at the feet of Christ in prayer : 
and pray he did, though the saying about Esau was ever at his heart "like a 
flaming sword, to keep the way of the tree of life, lest he should taste thereof 
and live." " Oh," he exclaims, " who knows how hard a thing I found it to 
come to God in prayer !" He desired the prayers of those whom he calls the 
people of God, meaning Mr. GifFord's little congregation, and the handful of 
persons within his circuit who were in communion with them : yet he dreaded 
lest they should receive this answer to their prayers in his behalf "pray not 
for him, for I have rejected him." He met indeed with cold consolation from 
an " ancient Christian," to whom he opened his case and said he was afraid 
he had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost ; this man like one of Job's 
comforters, replied, he thought so too ; but Bunyan comforted himself, b^ 
• Hebrews xii. 25. 
3* 



30 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

finding upon a little further conversation that this friend of his, " though a good 
man, was a stranger to much combat with the devil." So he betook himself 
again to prayer, as well as he could, but in such a state of mind, that " the 
most free and full and gracious words of the Gospel," only made him the 
more miserable. " Thus was he always sinking whatever he conld do." 

" So one day I walked to a neighbouring town," he says, "and sat dowi. 
upon a settle in the street, and fell into a very deep pause, about the most 
fearful state my sin had brought me to : and after long musing I lifted up my 
head, but methought I saw as if the sun that shineth in the heavens did grudge 
to give me light ; and as if the very stones in the street and tiles upon the 
houses, did band themselves against me. Methought that they all combined 
together to banish me out of the world ! I was abhorred of them, and unfit 
to dwell among them, because I had sinned against the Saviour. Oh how 
happy now was every creature over I was ! for they stood fast and kept their 
station ; but I was gone and lost !" In this mood breaking out in the bitterness 
of his soul, he said to himself with a grievous sigh, "how can God comfort 
such a wretch 1" And he had no sooner said this, than quick as the return 
of an echo, he was answered " this sin is not unto death." He says not that 
this seemed to be spoken audibly, but that it came to him with power and 
sweetness and light and glory ; that it was a release to him from his former 
bonds, and a shelter from his former storms. On the following evening this 
aupportation as he calls it began to fail ; and under many fears, he had 
recourse to prayer, his soul crying with strong cries, " Lord, I beseech thee 
show me that thou hast loved me with an everlasting love !" and like an echo 
the words returned upon him " I have loved thee, with an everlasting love."* 
That night he went to bed in quiet; and when he awoke in the morning, " it 
was fresh upon my soul," he says, " and I believed it." 

Being thus, though not without many misgivings, brought into "comfort- 
able hopes of pardon," the love which he bore towards his Saviour worked' 
in him at this time " a strong and hot desire of revengement" upon himself, 
for the sin which he had committed ; and had it been the Romish superstition 
which Bunyan had imbibed he might now have vied with St. Dominic the 
Cuirassier, or the Jesuit Joam d' Almeida in inflicting torments upon his own 
miserable body. A self-tormentor he continued still to be, vacillating between 
hope and fear : sometimes thinking that he was set at liberty from his guilt, 
sometimes that he had left himself " neither foot-hold, nor hand-hold among 
all the stays and praps in the precious word of life." One day, when earnestly 
in prayer, this Scripture fastened on his heart : "0 man, great is thy faith !'' 
" even," he says, " as if one had clapped me on the back, as I was on my 
knees before God." At another time, when doubting whether the blood of 
Christ was sufficient to save his soul, and dreading lest that doubt should not 
be removed, the inward voice for which he listened sounded suddenly within 
his heart, " He is able."t — " But methought this word able was spoke loud 
unto me ; it showed a great word ; it seemed to be writ in great letters, and 
gave such a justle to my fear and doubt for the time it tarried with me, as I 
* Jeremiah xxxi 3. t Hebrews vii. 25. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 31 

never had all my life either before or after." But it tarried only about a day. 
Next, when he was trembling in prayer under a fear that no word of God 
could help him, this part of a sentence darted in upon hira, " My grace is 
sufficient." A little while before he had looked at that very text, and thrown 
down the book, thinking it could not come near his soul with comfort ; " then 
I thought it was not large enough for me ; no, not large enough ; — but now 
it was as if it had arms of grace so wide, that it could not only enclose me. 
but many more besides." In such conflicts he says "peace would be in and 
out, sometimes twenty times a day ; comfort now and trouble presently ; 
peace now, and before I could go a furlong, as full of fears and guilt as ever 
heart could hold ! For this about the sufficiency of grace, and that of Esau's 
parting with his birthright, would be like a pair of scales within my mind : 
sometimes one end would be uppermost, and sometimes again the other, 
according to which would be my peace or troubles." He prayed therefore to 
God for help to apply the whole sentence which of himself he was not as yet 
able to do. He says, " that he gave, that I gathered, but further I could not 
go, for as yet it only helped me to hope there might be mercy for me ; * my 
Grace is sujicieni ;' it answered his question that there was hope ; but he 
was not contented because for thee was left out, and he prayed for that also. 

It was at a meeting with his fellow-believers, when his fears again were 
prevaiHng, that the words for which he longed, according to his own expres- 
sion "broke in" upon him, "My Grace is sufficient for thee, my Grace is 
sufficient for thee, my Grace is sufficient for thee,^' — three times together. He 
was then as though he had seen the Lord look down from heaven upon him, 
" through the tiles and direct these words to him. It sent him mourning 
home ; it broke his heart, and filled him full of joy, and laid him low as the 
dust. And now he began to venture upon examining " those most fearful 
and terrible Scriptures," on which till now he scarcely dared cast his eyes, 
(" yea had much ado a hundred times to forbear wishing them out of the 
Bible :") he began " to come close to them, and read them and consider them, 
and to weigh their scope and tendency." The result was a clear perception 
that he had not fallen quite away ; that his sin, though devilish, had not been 
consented to, and put in practice, and that after deliberation — not public and 
open ; that the texts which had hitherto so appalled him were yet consistent 
with those which proffered forgiveness and salvation. " And now remained 
only the hinder part of the tempest, for the thunder was gone past ; only some 
drops did still remain." And when one day in the field, the words, " Thy 
righteousness is in heaven," occurred to him, "methought withal," he says, 
" I saw with the eyes of my soul, Jesus Christ at God's right hand — there, I 
say, as my righteousness — for my righteousness was Christ himself, ' the same 
yesterday, and to day, and for ever.' "* Then his chains fell off in very deed : 
he was loosed from his affliction, and his temptations fled away. 

This was after two years and a half of incessant agitation and wretched- 
ness. Bunyan thought he could trace the cause of this long temptation to a 
sin which he had committed, and to a culpable omission. He had, during th© 
* Hebrews xiii. 8. 



32 LIFE OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 

time when doubt and unbeliet assailed him, tempted the Lord by asking of 
him a sign whereby it might appear that the secret thoughts of the heart were 
known to him ; and he had omitted when praying earnestly for the removal 
of present troubles, and for assurances of faith, to pray that he might be kept 
from temptation, " This," he says " I had not done, and therefor*^ was thus 
suffered to sin and fall. — And truly this very thing is to this day of such 
weight and awe upon me, that I dare not when I come before the Lord, go 
off my knees, until I entreat him for help and mercy against the temptations 
that are to come ; and I do beseech thee, Reader, that thou learn to beware of 
my negligence, by the affliction that for this thing I did, for days and months 
and years, with sorrow undergo." Far ''.ore satisfactorily could he trace in 
himself the benefits which he derived from this long and dreadful course of 
suffering under which a weaker body must have sunk, and from which it is 
almost miraculous that any mind should have escaped without passing into 
incurable insanity. Before that trial, his soul had been, " perplexed with 
unbelief, blasphemy, hardness of heart, questions about the being of God, 
Christ, the truth of the word, and certainty of the world to come."—" Then," 
he says, " I was greatly assaulted and tormented with atheism ; but now the 
case was otherwise ; now was God and Christ continually before my face, 
though not in a way of comfort, but in a way of exceeding dread and terror. 
The glory of the holiness of God did at this time break me to pieces ; and 
the bowels and compassion of Christ did break me as on the wheel ; for I 
could not consider him but as a lost and rejected Christ, the remembrance of 
which was as the continual breaking of my bones. The Scriptures also were 
wonderful things unto me ; I saw that the truth and verity of them were the 
keys of the kingdom of heaven ; those that the Scriptures favour, they must 
inherit bliss ; but those that they oppose and condemn, must perish for ever- 
more — Oh ! one sentence of the Scripture did more afflict and terrify miy 
mind, I mean those sentences that stood against me (as sometimes I thought 
they every one did) — more, I say, than an army of forty thousand men that 
might come against me. Wo be to him against whom the Scriptures bend 
themselves !" 

But this led him to search the Bible and dwell upon it with an earnestness 
and intensity which no determination of a calmer mind could have commanded. 
"This made me," he says, "with careful heart and watchful eye, with 
great fearfulness, to turn over every leaf, and with much diligence mixed with 
its natural force and latitude. By this also I was greatly holden off my for- 
mer foolish practice of putting by the word of promise when it came into my 
mind : for now, though I could not suck that comfort and sweetness from the 
promise as I had done at other times, yea, like to a man a-sinking, I should 
catch at all I saw ; formerly I thought I might not meddle with the promise, 
unless I felt its comfort ; but now 'twas no time thus to do, the Avenger of 
Blood too hardly did pursue me." If in the other writings of Bunyan, and 
especially in that which has made his name immortal, we discover none of 
that fervid language, in which his confusions and self-examination are record- 
ed — none of those " thoughts that breathe and words that burn," — none of 



LIFE OF JOHN EUNYAN. 33 

that passion m which the reader so far participates as to be disturbed and dis- 
tressed by it — here we perceive how he acquired that thorough and familiar 
acquaintance with the Scriptures which in those works is manifested. " Now 
therefore was I glad," he says, " to catch at that Word, which yet I had no 
ground or right to own ; and even to leap into the bosom of that promise, 
that yet I feared did shut its heart against me. Now also I should labour to 
take the word as God hath laid it down, without restraining the natural force 
of one syllable thereof. Oh ! what did I now see in that blessed sixth of 
John, " and him that comes to me I will in nowise cast out /"* Now 
I began to consider with myself, that God hath a bigger mouth to speak with, 
than I had a heart to conceive with. I thought also with myself, that he 
spake not his words in haste, or in an unadvised heat, but with infinite wisdom 
and judgment, and in very truth and faithfulness. I should in these days, 
often in my greatest agonies, even flounce toward the promise, (as the horses 
do towards sound ground, that yet stick in the mire,) concluding, (though as 
one almost bereft of his wits through fear,) ' on this I will rest and stay, and 
leave the fulfilling of it to the God of heaven that made it!' Oh, many a 
pull hath my heart had with Satan for that blessed sixth of John ! I did not 
now, as at other times, look principally for comfort, (though, how welcome 
would it have been unto me !) but now, a word, a word to lean a weary soul 
upon, that it might not sink for ever ! 'twas that I hunted for ! Yea, often 
when I have been making to the promise, I have seen as if the Lord would 
refuse my soul for ever : I was often as if I had run upon the pikes, and as if 
the Lord had thrust at me, to keep me from him, as with a flaming sword !" 

When Bunyan passed from this horrible condition into a state of happy 
feeling, his mind was. nearly overthrown by the transition. " I had two or 
three times," he says, " at or about my deliverance from this temptation, 
such strange apprehensions of the grace of God, that I could hardly bear up 
under it ; it was so out of measure amazing when I thought it could reach 
me, that I do think if that sense of it had abode long upon me, it would have 
made me uncapable of business." He had not however yet attained that self- 
control which belongs to a sane mind ; for after he had been formally admitted 
into fellowship with GifFord's little congregation, and had been by him baptized 
accordingly, by immersion, probably in the river Ouse, (for the Baptists at 
that time sought rather than shunned publicity on such occasions,) he was for 
nearly a year pestered with strange and villanous thoughts whenever he com- 
municated at the meeting. These however left him. When threatened with 
consumption at one time, he was delivered from the fear of dissolution, by 
faith, and the strong desire of entering upon eternal life ; and in another 
illness, when the thought of approaching death for awhile overcame him, 
" behold," he says, "as T was va. the midst of those fears the words of the 
Angels carrying jl,azarus into Abraham s oosom, darted m upon me, as who 
should say, ' so shall it be with thee when thou dost leave this world !' This 
did sweetly revive my spirits, and help me to hope in God ; which when 1 
had with comfort mused on awhile, that word fell with great weight upon my 
* John vi. 37, 



34 LIFE OF JOHN HUNYAN, 

uind, * Death, where is thy sting'? Grave, where is thy victory? A; 
this, I became both well in body and mind at once ; for my sickness did pres- 
ently vanish, and I walked comfortably in my work for God again." 

Gilford died in 1655, having drawn up during his last illness an Epistle to 
his congregation, in a wise and tolerant and truly Christian spirit : he exhorted 
them to remember his advice that when any person was to be admitted. a 
member of their community, that person should solemnly declare that " union 
with Christ was the foundation of all saints' communion," and merely an 
agreement concerning " any ordinances of Christ, or any judgment or opinion 
about externals;" and that such new members should promise that " through 
Grace they would would walk in love with the Church, though there should 
happen any difference in judgment about other things." " Concernmg sepa- 
ration from the Church," the dying pastor pursued, " about baptism, laying on 
of hands, anointing with oil, psalms, or any other externals, I charge every one 
of you respectively as ye will give an account of it to our Lord Jesus Christ, 
who shall judge both quick and dead at his coming, that none of you be found 
guilty of this great evil, which some have committed, and through a zeal for 
God — yet not according to knowledge. They have erred from the law of the 
love of Christ, and have made a rent in the true church, which is but one." 
Mr. Ivimey, in his History of the English Baptists, says of Gifford : " His labours 
were apparently confined to a narrow circle ; but their effects have been very 
widely extended, and will not pass away when time shall be no more. We 
allude to his having baptized and introduced to the Church the wicked Tinker 
of Elstow. He was doubtless the honoured EvangeUst who pointed Bunyan 
to the Wicket Gate, by instructing him in the knowledge of the Gospel : by 
turning him from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God. 
Little did he think such a chosen vessel was sent to his house, when he 
opened his door to admit the poor, the depraved, and the despairing Bunyan." 

But the wickedness of the Tinker has been greatly overcharged ; and it is 
taking the language of self-accusation too literally to pronounce of John 
Bunyan that he was at any time depraved. The worst of what he was in his 
worst days is to be expressed in a single word, for which we have no syno- 
nyme, the full meaning of which no circumlocution can convey, and which 
though it may hardly be deemed presentable in serious composition, I shall 
use, as Bunyan himself (no mealy-mouthed writer) would have use it, had it 
in his days borne the same acceptation in which it is now universally under- 
stood ; — in that word then, he had been a blackguard : — 

The very head and front of his oflfending 
Hath this extent, no more. 

Such he might have been expected to be by his birth, breeding and vocation, 
scarcely indeed by possibility could he have been otherwise ; but he was 
never a vicious man. It has been seen that at the first reproof he shook off, 
at once and for ever, the practice of profane swearing, the worst if not the 
only sin to which ne was ever addicted. He must have been still a very 
young man when that outward reformation took place, which little as he. after- 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 35 

ward valued it, and insufRcient as it may have been, gave evidence at least of 
right intentions under the direction of a strong- will : and throughout his sub- 
sequent struggles of mind, the force of a diseased imagination is not more 
manifest, than the earnestness of his religious feelings and aspirations. His 
connexion with the Baptists was eventually most beneficial to him ; had it 
not been for the encouragement which he received from them he might have 
lived and died a tinker ; for even when he cast off, like a slough, the coarse 
habits of his early hfe, his latent powers could never, without some such 
encouragement and impulse, have broken through the thick ignorance with 
which they were incrusted. 

The coarseness of that instruction could hardly be conceived if proofs of 
it were not preserved in his own handwriting. There is no book except the 
Bible which he is known to have perused so intently as the Acts and monu- 
ments of John Fox the martyrologist, one of the best of men ; a work more 
hastily than judiciously compiled in its earlier parts, but i^valuable for that 
greater and far more important portion w'iiich has obtained \)r it its popular 
name of the Book of Martyrs. Bunyan's own copy of this work is in exist- 
ence,* and valued of course as such a relic of such a man ought to be. In 
each volume he has written his name beneath the title-page in a large and stout 
print-hand, thus : — 

And under some of the wood-cuts he has inserted a few rhymes, which are 
undoubtedly his own composition ; and which, though much in the manner of 
the verses that were printed under the illustrations to his Pilgrim's Progress 
when that work was first adorned with cuts, (verses worthy of such embel- 
lishments,) are very much worse than even the worst of those. Indeed, it 
would not be possible to find specimens of more miserable doggerel. But as 
It has been proper to lay before the reader the vivid representation of Bunyan 
in his feverish state of enthusiasm, that the sobriety of mind into which he 
settled may be better appreciated and the more admired ; sofor a like reason 
is it fitting that it should be seen, from how gross and deplorable a state of 

* It was purchased in the year 1780 by Mr. -Wontner of the Minories ; froin him it 
descended to his daughter Mrs. Parnell of Botolph-lane ; and by her obliging permis- 
sion the verses have been transcribed and fac-similes taken from it. For this and for 
other kind assistance the present edition is indebted to Mr. Richard Thomson, author 
of "An Historical Essay on Magna Charta, with a General View and Explanation of the 
Whole of the Enghsh Charters of Liberties ;"— a book as beautifully and appropriately 
adorned as it is elaborately and learnedly compiled. 

The edition of the Acts and Monuments is that of 1641, 3 vols, folio, the last of those m 
black-letter, and probably the latest when it came into Bunyan's hands. One of his 
signatures bears the date of 1662 : but the verses must undoubtedly have been written 
some years ealier, before the publication of his first tract. 



36 l-fFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

ignorance that intellect which produced the Pilgrim's Progress worked ita 
way. — These then are the verses : — 

Under the print of an Owl appearing to a Council held by Pope John at 
Rome. (Acts and Monuments, vol. i. 781.) 

Doth the owle to them apper 

which putt them all into a fear 

Will not the man & trubel crown 

cast the owle unto the ground. 
Another is here presented as it appears in his own rude handwriting undel 
the martyrdom of Thomas Haukes — who having promised to his friends that 
he would lift his hand above his head toward heaven, before he gave up the 
ghost, in token to them that a man under the pain of such burning might keep 
his mind quiet and patient, lifted his scorched arms in fulfilment of that pledge, 
after his speech was gone, and raised them in gesture of thanksgiving triumpL 
towards the living God. 




LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 37 

Under the martyrdonv of John Hus, (Acts and Men. vol. i. 821) • • 

heare is John hus that you may see 
uesed in deed with all crulity. 
But now leet us follow & look one Mm 
Whear he is full field in deed to the brim. 

Under the martyrdom of John Rogers, the Protomartyr ir. the Marian Per 
secution, (lb. vol. iii. 133) : — 

It was the will of X. (Christ) that thou should die 
Mr Rogers his body m the flames to fry. 
O Blessed man thou did lead this bloody way, 
O how wilt thou shien with X in the last day. 

Under the martyrdom of Lawrence Sanders, (lb. vol. iii. 139) : — 

Mr Sanders is the next blessed man in deed 
J And from all trubels he is made free. 

Farewell world «fe all hear be lo 
For to my dear Lord I must gooe. 

There is yet one more of these tinker's tetrasticks, penned in the margm, 
Deside the account of Gardener's death : — 

the blood the blood that he did s'ned 

is falling one his one head ; 

and dredfuU it is for to see 

the begiimes of his misere. Vol. iii. p. 527. 

These curious inscriptions must have been Bunyan's first attempts in verse ; 
he had no doubt found difficulty enough in tinkering them to make him proud 
of his work when it was done ; for otherwise he would not have written them 
in a book which was the most valuable of all his goods and chattels. In latter 
days he seems to have taken this book for his art of poetry, and acquired from 
It at length the tune and the phraseology of such verses as are there inserted — 
with a few rare exceptions, they are of Robert Wisdom's school, and something 
below the pitch of Sternhold and Hopkins. But if he learned there to make 
bad verses, he entered fully into the spirit of its better parts, and received 
that spirit into as resolute a heart as ever beat h\ a martyr's bosom. From the 
examples which he found there, and from the Scriptures which he perused 
with such intense devotion, he derived " a rapture" 

—that raising from ignorance 

— Carried him up into the air of action 

—And knowledge of himself: 

And when the year after Gilford's death a resolution was passed by the meet- 
ing, that " some of the brethren, (one at a time,) to whom the Lord may have 
given a gift, be called forth, and encouraged to speak a word in the church for 
mutual edification," Bunyan was one of the persons so called upon. " Some," 
he says, " of the most able among the Saints with us — I say, the most ablf 
4 



38 LIFE or JOHN BUNYAN. 

for judgment and holiness of life — as they conceived, did perceive that God 
had counted me worthy to understand something of his will in his holy and 
blessed Word ; and had given me utterance in some measure to express what 
I saw to others for edification. Therefore, they desired me, and that with 
much earnestness, that I would be willing at some times, to take in hand in 
one of the meetings, to speak a word of exhortation unto them. The which, 
though at the first it did much dash and abash my spirit, yet being still by 
them desired and entreated, I consented to their request; and did twice, at 
two several assemblies, (but in private,) though with much weakness and infirm- 
ity, discover my gift amongst them ; at which, they not only seemed to be, 
but did solemnly protest, as in the sight of the great God, they were both 
affected and comforted, and gave thanks to the Father of mercies for the grace 
bestowed on me." 

In those days, the supply of public news came so slowly, and so scanty 
when It came, that even the proceedings of so humble an individual as Bun- 
yan became matter of considerable attention in the town of Bedford. His 
example drew many to the Baptist-meeting, from curiosity to discover what 
had affected him there and produced such a change in his conversation. 
" When I went out to seek the Bread of Life, some of them," he says, 
" would follow, and the rest be put into a muse at home. Yea, almost all the 
town, at first, at times would go out to hear at the place where I found good. 
Yea, young and old for a while had some reformation on them : also some of 
them perceiving that God had mercy upon me, came crying to him for mercy 
too." Bunyan was not one of those enthusiasts who thrust themselves 
forward in confident reliance upon what they suppose to be an inward call. 
He entered upon his probation with diffidence and fear, not daring " to make 
use of his gift in a public way :" and gradually acquired a trust in himself 
and a consciousness of his own qualifications, when some of those who went 
into the country to disseminate their principles and make converts, took him 
in their company. Exercising himself thus, as occasion offered, he was 
encouraged by the approbation with which others heard him ; and in no long 
time, " after some solemn prayer, with fasting, he was, " more particularly 
called forth, and appointed to a more ordinary and public preaching, not only 
to and amongst them that believed, but also to offer the Gospel to those who 
had not yet received the faith thereof." 

The Bedford meeting had at this time its regular minister whose name was 
John Burton ; so that what Bunyan received was a roviag commission to 
itinerate in the villages round about ; and in this he was so much employed, 
that when in the ensuing year he was nominated for a deacon of the congre- 
gation, they declined electing him to that office, on the ground that he was too 
much engaged to attend to it. Having in previous training overcome his first 
diffidence, he now " felt in his mind a secret pricking forward" to this minis- 
try ; not "for desire of vain glory," for he was even at that time "sorely 
afflicted" concerning his own eternal state, but because the Scriptures 
encouraged him, by texts which ran continually in his mind, whereby " I was 
made," he says, *' to see, that the Holy Ghost never intended that men who 



LIFE OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 39 

have gifts and abilities should bury them in the earth, but rather did command 
and stir up such to the exercise of their gift, and also, did command those that 
were apt and ready, so to do." Those gifts he had, and could not but be 
conscious of them ; he had also the reputation of possessing them, so that 
people came by hundreds to hear him from all parts round about, though 
" upon divers accounts ;" some to marvel, and some perhaps to mock : but 
some also to listen, and to be " touched with a conviction that they needed a 
Saviour." " But I first," he says, *' could not believe that God should speak 
by me to the heart of any man, still counting myself unworthy : yet those 
who were thus touched would love me and have a particular respect for me : 
and though I did put it from me that they should be awakened by me, still 
they would confess it, and affirm it before the saints of God. They would 
also bless God for me, (unworthy wretch that I am !) and count me God's 
instrument that showed to them the way of salvation. Wherefore, seeing 
them in both their words and deeds to be so constant, and also in their hearts 
so earnestly pressing after the knowledge of Jesus Christ, rejoicing that ever 
God did send me where they were, then I began to conclude it might be so 
that God had owned in his work such a foolish one as I. and then came that 
word of God to my heart with much sweet refreshment, " the blessing of 
them that were ready to perish is come upon me ; yea I caused the widow's 
heart to sing for joy."* 

"When he first began to preach, Bunyan endeavoured to work upon his 
hearers by alarming them ; he dealt chiefly in communications, and dwelt upon 
the dreadful doctrine that the curse of God " lays hold on all men as they 
come into the world, because of sin." *' This part of my work," says he, " I 
fulfilled with great sense : for the terrors of the law, and guilt for my trans- 
gressions, lay heavy upon my conscience. I preached what I felt — what I 
smartingly did feel — even that under which my poor soul did groan and trem- 
ble to astonishment. Indeed, I have been as one sent to them from the dead. 
I went myself in chains, to preach to them in chains ; and carried that fire in 
my own conscience, that I persuaded them to be aware of. I can truly say — 
that when T have been to preach, I have gone full of guilt and terror even to 
the pulpit-door ; and there it hath been taken off and I have been at liberty 
in my mind until I had done my work ; and then immediately, even before I 
could get down the pulpit-stairs, I have been as bad as I was before. Yet 
God carried me on; but surely with a strong hand, for neither guilt nor hell 
could take me off my work." This is a case like that of the fiery old soldier 
John Haime, who was one of Wesley's first lay-preachers. 

When he was in a happier state of mind, he took a different and better course, 
" still preaching what he saw and felt ;" he then laboured "to hold forth our 
Lord and Saviour" in all his offices, relations and benefits unto the world ; — 
and *' to remove those false supports and props on which the world doth lean, 
and by them fall and perish." Preaching, however, was not his only employ- 
ment, and though still working at his business for a maintenance, he found 
time to compose a treatise against some of those heresies which the firsj 
* Job xxix. 13. 



40 LIFE OF JOHN BUNVAN. 

Quakers poured forth so profusely in their overflowing enthusiasm. In that age 
of theological warfare, no other sectaries acted so eagerly upon the offensive. 
It seems that they came into some of the meetings which Bunyan attended 
to bear testimony against the doctrines which were taught there ; and this 
induced him to write his first work, entitled " Some Gospel Truths opened 
according to the Scriptures : or the Divine and Human Nature in Christ Jesus ; 
His coming into the world ; His Righteousness, Death, Resurrection, Ascen- 
sion, Intercession, and Second Coming to Judgment, plainly demonstrated and 
proved." Burton prefixed to this treatise a commendatory epistle, bidding 
the reader not to be offended because the treasure of the Gospel was held 
forth to him in a poor earthen vessel by one who had neither the greatness 
nor the wisdom of this world to commend him. " Having had experience," 
he says, "with many other saints of this man's soundness in the faith, of his 
godly conversation, and his ability to preach the Gospel, not by human art, 
but by the Spirit of Christ, and that with much success in the conversion of 
sinners — I say having had experience of this, and judging this book may be 
profitable to many others, as well as to myself, I thought it my duty upon this 
account to bear witness with my brother to the plain and simple, and yet glo- 
rious truths of our Lord Jesus Christ." 

It may be asked, how is it possible that the man who v^nrote such illiterate 
and senseless verses in the margin of his Book of Martyrs, could have com- 
posed a treatise like this, about the same time, or shortly afterward 1 To this 
it may be replied that if the treatise were seen in its original spelling it might 
have at first-sight as tinkerly an appearance as the verses : but in those days, 
persons of much higher station spelt quite as loosely — perhaps all who were 
not professionally scholars — for it was before the age of spelling-books ; and 
it may be believed that in most cases the care of orthography was left to the 
printers. And it is not to be concluded from Bunyan's wretched verses that 
he would write as wretchedly in prose ; in versifying he was attempting an 
art which he had never learned, and for which he had no aptitude ; but in prose 
he wrote as he conversed and as he preached, using the plain slraightforwarch 
language of common life. Burton may have corrected some vulgarisms, but 
other correction would not be needed ; for frequent perusal of the Scriptures 
had made Bunyan fully competent to state what those doctrines were which 
the Quakers impugned : he was ready with the scriptural proofs ; and in a 
vigorous mind like his right reasoning naturally results from right premises. 

An ill judgment might be formed of Bunyan's treatise from that part of its 
title which promises *' profitable directions to stand fast in the doctrine of 
Jesus the Son of Mary, against those blustering storms of the Devil's temp- 
tations, which do at this day, like so many Scorpions, break loose from the 
bottomless Pit, to bite and torment those that have not tasted the virtue of 
Jesus, by the Revelation of the Spirit of God." Little wisdom and less 
moderation might be expected in a polemical discourse so introduced ! It is 
however a calm, well-arranged and well-supported statement of the scriptural 
doctrines on some momentous points which the primitive Quakers were 
understood by others to deny ; and which in fact, though they did not so 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 41 

understand themselves, they frequently did deny, both virtually and explicity, 
when in the heat and acerbity of oral disputation they said, they knew not 
what ; and also, when under the same belief of immediate inspiration, they 
committed to writing whatever words came uppermost, as fast as the pen 
could put them down, and subjected to no after-revision what had been pro- 
duced with no forethought. " I would not have thee think," says Bunyan, 
" that I speak at random in this thing ; know for certain that I myself have 
heard them blaspheme — yea, with a grinning countenance, at the doctrine ■>f 
that Man's second coming from heaven, above the stars, who was born of the 
Virgin Mary. Yea, they have told me to my face, that I have used conjura- 
tion and witchcraft, because what I preached was according to the Scriptures. 
I was also told to my face, that I preached up an idol, because I said that the 
Son of Mary was in heaven, with the same body that was crucified on the 
cross ; and many other things have they blasphemously vented against the 
Lord of Life and Glory and his precious Gospel. The Lord reward them 
according as their work shall be !" 

A reply to this (published originally like the treatise which provoked it, as 
a pamphlet) is inserted among " the Memorable Works of a Son of Thunder 
and Consolation, namely that True Prophet and Faithful Servant of God and 
Suflerer for the Testimony of Jesus, Edward Burroughs — Published and Printed 
for the good and benefit of Generations to come, in the year 1672." This 
answer is entitled, " The True Faith of the Gospel of Peace contended for in 
the Spirit of Meekness ; and the Mystery of Salvation, (Christ within, the 
Hope of Glory,) Vindicated in the Spirit of Love, against the Secret Opposition 
of John Bunyan, a Professed Minister in Bedfordshire." Words soft as dew, 
or as the droppings of a summer-cloud ; but they were the forerunners of a 
storm, and the Son of Thunder breaks out at once : — " How long ye crafty 
Fowlers will ye prey upon the innocent, and shoot at him secretly 1 How long 
s»hall the righteous be a prey to your teeth, ye subtle Foxes who seek to 
devour 1 The just One against whom your bow is bent, cries for vengeance 
against you in the ears of the Lord. Yet you strengthen your hands in 
iniquity, and gird yourselves with the zeal of madness and fury ; you think to 
swallow up the harmless and to blot out the name of the righteous, that his 
generation may not be found on earth. You shoot your arrows of cruelty, 
even bitter words, and make the innocent your mark to prey upon. You de- 
spise the way of uprightness and simplicity, and the path of craft and subtlety 
you tread: your dens are in darkness, and your mischief is hatched upon 
your beds of secret whoredom. Yet, you are found out with the searching 
eye of the Lord ; and as with a whirlwind will he scatter you, and your name 
shall rot, and your memorial shall not be found, and the deeper you have 
digged the pit for another the greater will be your own fall. And John Bun- 
yan and his fellow, who have joined themselves to the broken army of Magog, 
now in the heat of the day of great striving, are not the least of all guilty 
among their brethren, of secret smiting the innocent, with secret lies and 
slanders, who have showed themselves in defence of the Dragon against the 
Lamb, in this day of war betwixt them." In this strain the Son of Thunder 
4* 



42 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

roars and blazes away, like a Zeuj vxpiftpEnErm in prose. " Your spirit is tried, 
and your generation is read at large, and your stature and countenance is 
clearly described to me, to be of the stock of Ishmael, and of the seed of 
Cain, whose line reacheth unto the murdering Priests, Scribes and Pharisees. 
Oh thou blind Priest, whom God hath confounded in thy language — the design 
of the devil in deceiving souls is thy own, and I turn it back to thee. Thoii 
directest altogether to a thing without, despising the light within, and worship- 
ping the name of Mary in thy imagination, and knowest not Him who was 
before the world was, in whom alone is salvation and in no other. — If we should 
diligently search, we should find thee, through feigned words, through covetous- 
ness, making merchandise of souls, loving the wages of unrighteousness : 
and such were the scoffers whom Peter speaks of, among whom thou art 
found in thy practice, among them who are preaching for hire, and love the 
error of Balaam, who took gifts and rewards. — The Lord rebuke thee, thou 
unclean spirit, who hast falsely accused the innocent to clear thyself from 
guilt ; but at thy door guilt lodges, and I leave it with thee ; clear thyself if 
thou art able. And thy wicked reproaches we patiently bear, till the Lord 
appear for us : and we are not greater than our Lord, who was said to have a 
devil by thy generation : and their measure of wickedness thou fulfils, and 
art one of the Dragon's army against the Lamb and his followers ; and thy 
weapons are slanders ; and thy refuge is lies ; and thy work is confused, and 
hath hardly gained a name in Babylon's record ; and by us (so much of it at 
least is against us) is cast by as our spoiled prey, and trampled upon in all thy 
reproachful speeches, who art unclean." 

Mixed with these railings were affirmations as honestly made that the 
Quakers owned all the Scriptures which Bunyan had alleged against them, 
concerning the life, and death and resurrection of our Lord, yet withal bearing 
witness " that without the revelation of Christ within, there is no salvation." 
There were many and wide differences between Bunyan and the Quakers, 
but none upon these points when they understood each other, and when the 
duakers understood themselves. He replied in a vindication of his treatise, 
complaining that his opponent had uttered a very great number of heresies, 
and falsely reported many things ; and wishing him to be sober, if he could, 
and to keep under his unruly spirit, and not to appear so much, at least not so 
grossly, a railing Rabshakeh. He maintained, which was in fact the point 
at issue, that the opinions held at that day by the Quakers were the same that 
the Ranters had held long ago, " only the Ranters had made them threadbare 
at an alehouse, and the Quakers had set a new gloss upon them again by an 
outward legal holiness, or righteousness." He dwelt upon the error of the 
Quakers in confounding conscience with the Spirit of Christ, thereby " idoli- 
zing and making a God" of what " is but a creature, and a faculty of the soul 
of man, which God hath made," — which " is that in which is the law of 
Nature, which is able to teach the Gentiles, that sin against the law is sin 
against God, and which is called by the Apostle* but even Nature itself."— 
'* wonderful that men should make a God and a Christ of their con- 
* 1 Corinth, xi. 14. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 43 

Bcientes because they can convince of sin !" To the reproach of making 
merchandise of souls and loving the wages of unrighteousness he answered 
thus : " Friend, dost thou speak this as from thy own knowledge, or did any 
other tell thee so ■? However, that spirit that led thee out of this way is a 
lying Spirit. For though I be poor and of no repute in the world, as to out- 
ward things, yet this grace I have learned, by the example of the Apostle, to 
preach the truth ; and also to work with my hands, both for mine own living, 
and for those that are with me, when I have opportunity. And I trust that 
the Lord Jesus who hath helped me to reject the wages of unrighteousness 
hitherto, will also help me still, so that I shall distribute that which God hath 
given me freely, and not for filthy lucre's sake. Other things I might speak 
in vindication of my practice in this thing. But ask of others, and they will 
tell thee that the things I say are truth : and hereafter have a care of receiving 
. any thing by hearsay only, lest you be found a publisher of those lies which 
are brought to you by others, and so render yourself the less credible." 

This reproof was so far lost upon his antagonist that he returned thus to 
the charge: "Thou seemest to be grieved, and calls this a false accusation. 
But let's try ; the cause admits dispute. Art not thou in their steps, and 
among them that do these things 1 Ask John Burton, with whom thou art 
joined close to vindicate him and call him brother, hath he not so much yearly, 
£150, or more, (except thou hast some ofit,) which is unrighteous wages, and 
hire, and gifts, and rewards 1 What sayest thou ] Art thou not in his steps, 
and among, and with, him and them that do these things 1 If he be thy 
brother, and thou so own him, what is evil in him whom thou vindicatest I lay 
upon thee. Though thou bid me have a care of receiving by hearsay, what I 
have said and received in this is truth, though thou evade it never so much." 
Burroughs must have examined very little into the truth or probability of what 
he heard when he could believe and repeat that a poor Baptist-meeting at 
Bedford raised £150 a year for its minister ! — " Your words," says he, " de- 
scribe your nature ; for by your voice I know you to be none of Christ's sheep ; 
and accordingly I . .tdge in just judgment and in true knowledge. Envy is of 
Cain's nature and seed; and that you are ; and liars are of Ishmael's stock, 
and you are guilty of that ; and you are among the murdering Priests' party, 
and close joined to them, in doctrine and practice, especially in writing against 
us. Thy portion shall be howling and gnashing of teeth, for the liar's portion 
is the lake. I reprove thee by the spirit of the Lord, and so leave thee to 
receive thy reward from the just God of righteous judgment, who upon thy 
bead will render vengeance in flames of fire, in his dreadful day. A liar 
and slanderer thou art, a perverter and wrester of the right way of God and 
of the Scriptures, a hypocrite and dissembler, a holder-forth of damnable 
doctrines, an envious man and false accuser — and all thy lies, deceits, con- 
fusions, hypocrisies, contradictions, and damnable doctrines of devils, with 
impudence held forth by thee, shall be consumed in the pit of vengeance. — 
Alas, alas for thee, John Bunyan ! thy several months' travail in grief and pain 
is a fruitless birth, and perishes as an untimely fig, and its praise is blotted 
out among men, and it's passed away as smoke. Truth is a-top of thee, and 



44 LIFE OF JOHN HUNYAiN. 

aulreaches thee — and it shall stand for ever to confound thee and all its ene- 
mies ; and though thou wilt not subject ♦hy mind to serve it willingly, yet a 
slave to it must thou be ; and what thou dost in thy wickedness against it, the 
end thereof brings forth the glory of it, and thy own confounding and shame. 
And now be wise and learned, and put off thy armour : for thou mayest under- 
stand the more thou strives, the more thou art entangled, and the higher thou 
arises in envy, the deeper is thy fall into confusion ; and the more thy argu- 
ments are, the more increased is thy folly. Let experience teach thee, and 
thy own wickedness correct thee ; and thus I leave thee. And if thou wilt 
not own the Light of Christ in thy own conscience, nor to reform thee and 
convince thee, yet in the day of judgment thou shalt own it ; and it shall 
witness the justness of the judgment of the Lord when for thy iniquities he 
pleads with thee. And behold as a thief in the night, when thou art not 
aware. He will come ; and then wo unto thee that art polluted !" 

Bunyan made no farther reply either to the reasoning or Rahshaking of his 
opponent ; for although as he says it pleased him much " to contend with 
great' earnestness for the word of faith and the remission of sins by the death 
and sufferings of our Saviour," he had no liking for controversy, and moreover 
saw that " his work before him ran in another channel." His great desire was 
to get into what he calls " the darkest places of the country," and awaken the 
religious feelings of that class of persons, who then as now, in the midst of a 
Christian nation, were lilce the beasts that perish. While he was thus usefully 
employed " the doctors and priests of the country," he says, began to open 
wide against him, ** and in the year 1657, an indictment was preferred against 
him at the assizes for preaching at Eaton ; for though this was in the golden 
days of Oliver Cromwell, the same writer who tells us that " in those days 
there was no persecution,"* observes " that the Presbyterian ministers who 
were then in possession of the livings could not bear with the preaching of an 
illiterate tmker and an unordained minister."! But the Presbyterians were not 
the only clergy who had intruded into the benefices of their loyal brethren, or 
retained those which were lawtnlly their own by conforming to the times and 
deserting the church in whose service they were ordained. There was a full 
proportion of Independents among these incumbents and some Baptists also. 
And that there was much more persecution during the Protectorate than 
Cromwell would have allowed, if he could have prevented it, may be seen by 
the history of the Quakers — to say nothing of the Papists, against whom the 
penal laws remained in full force — nor of the Church of England. The sim- 
ple truth is, all parties were agreed in the one Catholic opinion that certain 
doctrines are not to be tolerated ; they differed as to what those doctrines 
were ; and they differed also as to the degree in which they held the 
principle of intolerance, and the extent to which they practised it. The 
Papists, true to their creed, proclaimed it without reserve or limit, and 
burnt all heretics wherever they had power to do so. The Protestants there- 
fore tolerated no Papists where they were strong enough to maintain the as- 
cendency which they had won. The Church of England would have silenced all 
* Iviiney's Hist, o ' e F»?.ptists. vol. ii. p. 28. t lb. p. 34. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 45 

sectaries ; it failed in the attempt, being betrayed by many of its ow n members ; 
and then the Sectaries overthrew the Church, put the Primate to death, ejected 
all the clergy who adhered to their principles, imprisoned some, deported 
others, and prohibited even the private and domestic use of the Liturgy. The 
very Baptists of Bunyan's congregation, and at a time too when Bunyan was 
their pastor, interdicted* a " dearly beloved sister" from communicating with 
a church of which her son-in-law was minister, because he was not a Baptist ; 
and they excluded f a brother "because in a great assembly of the Church of 
England he was profanely bishoped, after the antichristian order of that gener- 
ation, to the great profanation of God's order, and heart-breaking of his Chris- 
tian brethren." The Independents flogged and hanged the Quakers : and the 
Quakers prophecied in the gall of bitterness against all other communities, and 
condemned them to the bottomless pit, in hearty belief and jubilant expectation 
that the sentence would be carried into full effect by the Devil and his Angels. 

It is not known in what manner the attempt at silencing Bunyan was de- 
feated. He tells us that the ignorant and malicious were then stirred up to 
load him with slanders; and that whatever the devil could devise, and his 
instruments mvent, was " whirled up and down the country" against him, 
thinkmg that by that means they should make his ministry to be abandoned 
It was rumoured that he was a witch, a Jesuit, a highwayman : and now it 
was that the aspersions cast upon his moral character called forth that charac- 
teristic vindication of himself which has already been noticed. Equally 
characteristic is the appeal which he made to his own manners and deport- 
ment. " And in this," says he, " I admire the wisdom of God, that he made 
me shy of women from my first conversion until now. These know, and can 
also bear me witness with whom I have been most ultimately concerned, that 
it is a rare thing to see me carry it pleasant towards a woman. The common 
salutation of woman I abhor ; 'tis odious to me in whomsoever I see it. Their 
company alone I cannot away with ! I seldom so much as touch a woman's 
hand ; for I think these things are not so becoming me. When I have seen 
good men salute those women that they have visited, or that have visited them, 
I have at times made my objection against it ; and when they have answered 
that it was but a piece of civility, I have told them, it is not a comely sight. 
Some indeed have urged the holy kiss : but then I have asked why they made 
balks 1 Why they did salute the most handsome, and let the ill-favoured go 1 
Thus how laudable soever such things have been in the eyes of others, they 
have been unseemly in my sight." — Dr. Doddridge could not have thus de- 
fended himself. But though this passage might have been written by a saint 
of the monastic calendar, Bunyan was no woman-hater. He had at this time 
married a second wife ; and that he " carried it pleasant" towards her, appears 
by her behaviour towards him in his troubles. 

Those troubles came on a few months only after the Restoration, Bunyan 
being one of the first persons after that event, who was punished for non- 
conformity. The nation was in a most unquiet state. There was a restless, 
rancorous, implacable party who would have renewed the civil war, for th© 
• Ivimey, vol. ii. p. 37. tib. p. 4G, 



46 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

sake of again trying the experiment of a commonwealth, which had so com- 
pletely and miserably failed when the power was in their hands. They looked 
to Ludlow as their general ; and Algernon Sidney* took the first opportu- 
nity of soliciting for them men from Holland, and money from France. The 
political enthusiasts who were engaged in such schemes counted upon the 
sectaries for support. Even among the sober sects there were men who at the 
cost of a rebellion would gladly have again thrown down the Church Estab- 
lishment, for the hope of setting up their own system during the anarchy that 
must ensue. Among the wilder, some were eager to proclaim King Jesus, 
and take possession of the earth as being the saints to whom it was promised ; 
and some, (a few years later, less in hope of effecting their republican pro- 
jects than in despair and vengeance, conspired to burn London : they were 
discovered, tried, convicted and executed ; they confessed their intention ; 
they named the day which had been appointed for carrying it into effect, be- 
cause an astrological scheme had shown it to be a lucky one for this design ; 
and on that very day the fire of London broke out. In such times the Gov- 
ernment was rendered suspicious by the constant sense of danger, and was 
led as much by fear as by resentment to severities which are explained by the 
necessity of self-defence — not justified by it, when they fall upon the innocent, 
or even upon the less guilty. 

\ warrant was issued against Bunyan as if he had been a dangerous person, 
because he went about preaching ; this office was deemed, (and well it might 
be,) incompatible with his calling ; he was known to be hostile to the restored 
Church, and probably it might be remembered that he had served in the Par- 
liament's army. Accordingly he was arrested at a place called Samsell in 
Bedfordshire, at a meeting in a private house. He was aware of this inten- 
tion, but neither chose to put off the meeting, nor to escape, lest such conduct 
on his part should make " an ill savour in the country ;" and because he was 
resolved " to see the utmost of what they could say or do to him ;" so he was 
taken before the Justice, Wingate by name, who .had issued the warrant 
Wingate asked him why he did not content himself with following his calling, 
instead of breaking the law ; and Bunyan replied that he could both follow 
his calling, and preach the word too. He was then required to find sureties ; 
they were ready, and being called in were told they were bound to keep him 
from preaching, otherwise their bonds would be forfeited. Upon this Bunyan 
declared that he would not desist from speaking the word of God. While his 
mittimus was making in consequence of this determination, one whom he 
calls an old enemy of the truth, entered into discourse with him, and said he 
had read of one Alexander, the coppersmith, who troubled the Apostles-— 
" aiming 'tis like at me," says Bunyan, "because I was a tinker ; to which I 
answered that I also had read of priests and Pharisees that had their hands in 
the blood of our Lord." Ay, was the rejoinder, and you are one of those 

* OEuvres de Louis xiv. T. 2, p. 204. Ludlow's Memoirs, (Edinburgh, 1751,) vol. 3, 
151, 156. Ludlow's passport from the Comte d'Estrades, sent him that he might go from 
Switzerland to Paris, there to confer with Sidney upon this project, is printed in the 
same volume, p. 157. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. ' 47 

Pharisees, for you make long prayers to devour widows' houses. " I answer- 
ed," says Bunyan, " that if he had got no more by preaching and praying than 
I had done, he would not be so rich as now he was." This ended in his com- 
mittal to Bedford jail there to remain till the quarter sessions. He was offered 
his liberty if he would promise not to call the people together, but no such 
promise would he make ; and when he was told that none but poor, simple, 
ignorant people came to hear him, he replied that such had most need of 
teaching, and therefore it was his duty to go on in that work. It appears 
however that after a few days he listened to his friends, and would have given 
bond for his appearance at the sessions : bnt the magistrate to whom they 
applied was afraid to take it. ** "Whereat," says Bunyan, "I was not at all 
daunted, but rather glad, and saw evidently that the Lord had heard me. For 
before I went down to the justice, I begged of God that if I might do more 
good by being at liberty than in prison, that then I might be set at liberty ; but 
if not — His will be done ; for I was not altogether without hopes, out that 
my imprisonment might be awakening to the saints in the country : therefore 
I could not tell which to choose ; only I in that manner did commit the thing 
to God. And verily at my return, I did meet my God sweetly in the prison 
again, comforting of me, and satisfying of me that it was His will and mind that 
I should be there." 

Some seven weeks after this the Sessions were held, and John Bunyan was 
indicted as a person who " devilishly and perniciously abstained from coming 
to church to hear divine service, and who vsras a common upholder of several 
unlawful meetings and conventicles to the great disturbance and distraction 
of the good subjects of this kingdom." He answered that as to the first part 
of this he was a common frequenter of the church of God : but being de- 
manded whether he attended the parish church, he replied that he did not, and 
for this reason, that he was not commanded so to do in the word of God ; we 
were commanded there to pray, but with the spirit, not by the common prayer- 
book, the prayers in that book being made by other men, and not by the motion 
of the Holy Spirit within our own hearts. And as to the Lord's prayer, said 
he, " there are very few that can, in the spirit, say the two first words of that 
prayer ; that is, that can call God their father, as knowing what it is to bo 
born again, and as having experience that they are begotten of the spirit of 
God ; which if they do not, all is but babbling." Having persuaded himself 
by weak arguments Bunyan used them as if they had been strong ones : " Show 
me," he said, " the place in the Epistles where the common prayer-book is 
written, or one text of Scripture that commands me to read it, and I will use 
it. But yet, notwithstanding, they that have a mind to use it, they have their 
liberty ; that is, I would not keep them from it. But for our parts, we can 
pray to God without it. Blessed be his name !" But the Sectaries had kept 
their countrymen from it, while they had the power ; and Bunyan himself in 
his sphere laboured to dissuade them from it. 

Men who are called in question for their opinions, may be expected to under 
or over state them at such times, according as caution or temerity may pre- 
dominate in their dispositions. In none of Bunyan's writings does he appear 



48 LIFE OF JOHN BU^YAN. 

60 little reasonable, or so little tolerant, as upon these examinations. He 
was a brave man — a bold one — and believed himself to be an injured one, 
standing up against persecution . for he knew that by his preaching, evident 
and certain good was done ; but that there was any evil in his way of doing 
it, or likely to arise from it, was a thought which, if it had arisen in his own 
mind, he would immediately have ascribed to the suggestion of Satan. Some 
farther disputation ensued : "we were told," he said, •' to exhort one anothei 
daily, while it is called to day :" but the Justice replied he ought not to preach- 
In rejoinder he offered to prove that it was lawful for him and such as him to 
preach, and quoted the Apostle's words, " as every man hath received the gift, 
even so let him minister the same unto another. Let me a little open that 
Scripture to you, said the magistrate : As every man hath received his gift ; 
that is, as every man hath received a trade, so let him follow it. If any man 
have received a gift of tinkering as thou hast done, let him follow his tinker- 
ing. And so other men. their trades, and the divine his caUing." But John 
insisted that spiritual gifts were intended in this passage. The magistrate 
said men might exhort if they pleased in their families, but not otherwise 
John answered, " if it were lawful to do good to some, it was lawful to do 
good to more. If it were a good thing to exhort our families, it was good to 
exhort others. And if it were held a sin for them to meet together and seek 
the face of God, and exhort one another to follow Christ, he would sin still." 
They were now at a point. You confess the indictment then 1 said the mag- 
istrate. He made answer — " this I confess : We have had many meetings 
together, both to pray to God, and to exhort one another ; and we had the 
sweet comforting presence of the Lord among us for our encouragement ; 
blessed be his name ! There I confess myself guilty, and no otherwise." 
Then said the magistrate : " Hear your judgment ! You must be had back 
again to prison, and there lie for three months following ; and at three months' 
end, if you do not submit to go to church to hear divine service, and leave 
your preaching, you must be banished the realm. And if after such a day as 
shall be appointed you to be gone, you shall be found in this realm, or be 
found to come over again without special license from the king, you must 
stretch by the neck for it ; I tell you plainly." Bunyan resolutely ansv/ered 
that if " he were out of prison to-day, he would preach the Gospel again to- 
morrow, by the help of God !" 

Back therefore he was taken ; " and I can truly say," he says, " I bless the 
Lord for it ; that my heart was sweetly refreshed in the time of my examin 
ation, and also afterward at my returning to the prison, so that I found 
Christ's words more than bare trifles, where he saith, " He will give you a 
mouth and wisdom which all your adversaries shall not be able to gamsaynor 
resist." Three months elapsed, and the Clerk of the Peace then went to 
him by desire of the magistrate to see if he could be persuaded to obedience. 
But Bunyan insisted that the law, being intended against those who designed 
to do evil in their meetings, did not apply to him. He was told that he might 
exhort his neighbours in private discourse, if he did not call togetner an as- 
• T.nke xxi. 15. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUrsYAM. 49 

semblv of people ; this he might do, and do much good thereby, without 
breaking the law. But, said Bunyan, if I may do good to one, why not tc 
two ] and if to two why not to four, and so to eight, and so on 1 Ay, said the 
Clerk, and to 'a hundred, I warrant you ! Yes, Bunyan answered, I think I 
should not be forbidden to do as much good as I can. They then began to 
discuss the question whether under pretence of doing good, harm might not 
be done, by seducing the people, and Banyan allowed that there might be 
many who designed the destruction of the government : let them, he said, be 
punished, and let him be punished also should he do any thing not becoming 
a man and a Christian ; if error or heresy could be proved upon him he would 
disown it, even in the market-place ; but to the truth, he would stand to the 
last drop of his blood. Bound in conscience he held himself to obey all righ- 
teous laws, whether there were a king or not ; and if he offended against them, 
patiently to bear the penalty. And to cut off all occasion of suspicion as 
touching the harmlessness of his doctrines, he would willingly give any one 
the notes of all his sermons, for he sincerely desired to live in peace and to 
submit to the present authority. " But there are two ways of obeyincr," he 
observed ; " the one to do that which I in my conscience do believe that I am 
bound to do, actively ; and where I cannot obey actively, there I am willing to 
lie down, and to suflFer what they shall do unto me." And here the interview 
ended, Bunyan thanking him for his " civil and meek discoursing," and breath 
ing a wish that they might meet in heaven. 

Shortly afterward the coronation took place, and the proclamation which 
allowed persons to sue out a pardon during twelve months from that day, had 
the effect of suspending the proceedings against him, if any farther were in- 
tended. When the assizes came, his wife presented a petition to the Judges 
that they would impartially take his case into consideration. Sir Matthew 
Hale was one of these Judges, and expressed a wish to serve her if he could, 
but a fear that he could do her no good ; and being assured by one of the 
Justices that Bunyan had been convicted, and was a hot-spirited fellow, he 
waived the matter. But the high sheriff encouraged the poor woman to make 
another effort for her husband before they left the town ; and accordingly 
" with a bashed face and a trembling heart," she entered the Swan Chamber 
where the two Judges and many magistrates and g-entry of the country were 
in company together. Trembling however as she was, Elizabeth Bunyan had 
imbibed something of her husband's spirit. She had been to London to peti- 
tion the House of Lords in his behalf, and had been told by one whom she 
calls Lord Barkwood that they could do nothing, but that hio releasement was 
committed to the judges at these next assizes ; and now I am come to you, 
she said, and you give neither releasement, nor relief ' And she complained 
to Hale that he was kept unlawfully in prison, for the indictment was false, 
and he was clapped up before there were any proclamations against the meet- 
ings. One of the Judges then said he had been lawfully convicted. "It is 
false," replied the woman ; " for when they said to him do you confess the 
indictment, he said only this, that he had been at several meetings both when 
there was preaching the Word and prayer, and that they had God's nresence 
5 



50 LIPE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

among them." Will your husband leave preaching! said Judge Twisden; 
if ne will do so, then send for him. " My Lord," said she, " he dares not 
leave preaching, as long as he can speak." 

Sir Matthew himself was not likely to be favourably impressed by this sort 
of pleading. But he listened sadly when she told him that there were four 
small children by the former wife, one of them blind ; that they had nothing 
to live upon while their father was in prison, but the charity of good people ; 
and that she herself " smayed" at the news when her husband was appre- 
hended, being but young and unaccustomed to such things, fell in labour, and 
continuing in it for eight days was delivered of a dead child. Alas, poor wo- 
man ! said Hale. But Twisden said poverty was her cloak, for he under- 
stood her husband was better maintained by running up and down a-preaching, 
than by following his calling. Sir Matthew asked what was his calling, and 
was told that he was a tinker. Yes, observed the wife, and because he is a 
tinker and a poor man, therefore he is despised and cannot have justice. The 
scene ended in Sir Matthew's mildly telling her he was sorry he could do her 
no good ; that what her husband had said was taken for a conviction, and that 
there was no other course for her than either to apply to the king, or sue out 
his pardon, or get a writ of error, which would be the cheapest. She urged 
them to send for Bunyan that he might speak for himself ; his appearance 
however would rather have confirmed those in their opinions who said that 
there was not such another pestilent fellow in the country, than have moved 
the Judges in his favour. Elizabeth Bunyan concludes her account by say- 
ing, " this T remember, that though I was somewhat timorous' at my first 
entrance into the chamber, yet before I went out I could not but break forth 
into tears ; not so much because they were so hard-hearted against me and 
my husband, but to think what a sad account such poor creatures will have to 
give at the coming of the Lord !" 

No farther steps for procuring his release were taken at this time ; either 
because the means for defraying the legal expenses could not be raised ; or, 
which is quite as probable, because it was certain that Bunyan thinking himself 
in conscience bound to preach in defiance of the law, would soon have made 
his case worse than it then was. For he had fortunately a friend in the jailer, 
and was somewhat like a prisoner at large, being allowed to go whither he 
would, and return when he thought proper. He attended the meetings of the 
congregation to which he belonged, he was employed by them to visit dis- 
orderly members, he was often out in the night, and it is said that many of 
the Baptist congregations in Bedfordshire owe their origin to his midnight 
preaching. " I followed my wonted course," he says, " taking all occasions 
to visit the people of God, exhorting them to be steadfast in the faith of Jesus 
Christ, and to take heed that they touched not the Common Prayer, &c." — 
an &c., more full of meaning than that which occasioned the dishonest outcry 
against the &c. oath. So far did this liberty extend that he went " to see 
the Christians at London," — an indiscretion which cost the jailer a severe 
reproof, and had nearly cost him his place ; and which compelled him to with- 
Qold any farther indulgence of this kind, " so," says Bunyan, " that I must riot 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 51 

HOW look out of the door." "They charged me," he adds, "that I went 
thither to plot and raise divisions and make insurrections, which God knows 
was a slander." It was slanderous to charge him with plotting, or with trai- 
torous intentions ; but in raising divisions he was, beyond all doubt, actively 
and heartily engaged. The man who distinguished a handful of Baptists in 
London as the Christians of that great metropolis, and who when let out by 
favour from his prison, exhorted the people of God as he calls them to take 
baed that they touched not the common prayer, was not employed in pro- 
MOting unity, nor in making good subjects, however good his intentions, how- 
ever orthodox his creed, however sincere and fervent his piety. Peace might 
be on his lips, and zeal for the salvation of others in his heart ; but he was 
certainly at that time no preacher of good will, nor of Christian charity. And 
without reference to human laws, it may be affirmed that the circumstances 
which removed this high-minded and hot-minded man from a course of dan- 
gerous activity, in which he was as little likely to acquire a tolerant spirit, as 
to impart it, and placed him in confinement, where his understanding had 
leisure to ripen and to cool, was no less favourable for his moral and religious 
nature than it has ultimately proved to his usefulness and his fame. 

Nothing is more certain than that the gratification which a resolute spirit 
feels in satisfying ics conscience exceeds all others ; this feeling is altogether 
distinct from that peace of mind which under all afHictions abides in the re- 
generate heart ; nor is it so safe a feeling, for it depends too much upon 
excitement, and the exaltation and triumph which it produces are akin to pride. 
Bunyan's heart had been kindled by the Book of Martyrs — cold and insensible 
indeed must any heart be which could dwell without emotion upon those 
precious records of religious heroism ! He had read in those records with 
perfect sympathy the passionate epistle which the Italian Martyr Pomponius 
Algerius addressed from prison to his friends. That martyr was. a student at 
Padua, and in what in one sense may be called the golden age of literature, 
had been devoted to study from his childhood with ambitious diligence and 
the most hopeful success. *' To mitigate your sorrow which you take for 
me," said this noble soldier of the noble army, " I cannot but impart unto you 
some portion of my delectation and joys which I feel and find, to the intent 
that you may rejoice with me and sing before the Lord. — I have found a nest 
of honey and honey-comb in the entrails of a lion. — Behold He that was once 
far from me, now is present with me : whom once scarce I could feel, now I 
see more apparently ; whom once I saw afar off, now I behold near at hand : 
whom once I hungered for, the same now approacheth and reach eth His hand 
unto me. He doth comfort me, and heapeth me up with gladness ; He min- 
istereth strength and courage ; He healeth me, refresheth, advanceth and 
comforteth me, — The sultry heat of the prison, to me is coldness : the cold 
winter to me is a fresh spring-time in the Lord. He that feareth not to be 
burnt in the fire, how will he fear the heat of the weather 1 Or what careth 
he for the pinching frost, who burneth with the love of the Lord "? This place 
is sharp and tedious to them that be guilty ; but to the innocent — here droppeth 
delectable dew, here floweth pleasant nectar, here runneth sweet milk, here 



52 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

is plenty of all good things. — Let the miserable worldling say if there be any 
plot, pasture or meadow, so delightful to the mind of man as here ! Here is 
mount Sion ; here I am already in heaven itself. Here standeth first Christ 
Jesus in the front : about him stand the old patriarchs, prophets and evan- 
gelists, apostles, and all the servants of God ; of whom some do embrace and 
cherish me ; some exhort, some open the sacraments unto me, some comfort 
me, other-some are singing about me. How then shall I be thought to be 
alone, among so many and such as these, the beholding of whom to me is botb 
solace and example !" 

" This man," says Bunyan, " was when he wrote this letter, in the house 
of the forest of Lebanon — in the church in the wilderness — in the place and 
way of contending for the truth of God , and he drank of both cups — of that 
which was exceeding bitter, and of that which was exceeding sweet : and the 
reason why he complained not of the bitter, was because the sweet had over- 
come it. As his afilictions abounded for Christ, so did his consolations by 
him ; so did I say 1 they abounded much more. But was not this man, think 
you a giant 1 A pillar in this house 1 Had he not also now hold of the shield 
of faith '\ Yea, was he not now in the combat ■? And did he not behave 
himself valiantly 1 Was not his mind elevated a thousand degrees beyond 
sense, carnal reasons, fleshly love, self concerns, and the desire of embracing 
worldly things '? This man had got that by the end that pleased him : neither 
could all the flatteries, promises, threats or reproaches, make him once listen 
to, or inquire after what the world, or the glory of it could afford. His mind 
was captivated with delights invisible, he coveted to show his love to his Lord 
by laying down his life for his sake. He longed to be there, where there shall 
be no more pain, nor sorrow, nor sighing, nor tears, nor troubles !" 

Bunyan had thoroughly conformed his own frame of mind to that which he 
thus admired ; but there were times when his spirit failed, and there is not a 
more characteristic passage in his works than that in which he describes his 
apprehensions, and inward conflict, and final determination : '' I will tell you 
a pretty business," he says ; " I was in a very sad and low condition for many 
weeks ; at which times also, being but a young prisoner and not acquainted 
with the laws, I had this lying much upon my spirits, that my imprisonment 
might end at the gallows, for aught that I could tell. Now therefore Satan 
laid hard at me, to beat me out of heart, by suggesting this unto me ; * but 
how, if when you come indeed to die, you should be in this condition ; that 
is, as not to savour the things of God, nor to have any evidence upon your soul 
for a better state hereafter? (for indeed at that time all the things of God 
were hid from my soul.) Wherefore when I at first began to think of this, it 
was a great trouble to me ; for I thought with myself, that in the condition I 
now was, I was not fit to die ; neither indeed did I think I could, if I should 
be called to it. Besides, I thought with myself, if I should make a scrambling 
shift to clamber up the ladder, yet I should either with quaking, or other 
symptoms of fainting, give occasion to the enemy to reproach the way of God, 
and his people for their timorousness. This therefore lay with great trouble 
upon me ; for methought I was ashamed to die with a pale face and tottering 



t.IFE OF JOHN EUNYAN. 53 

knees, m such a case as this. Wherefore I prayed to God that he would 
comfoit me, and give me strength to do and suffer what he should call me to ; 
yet no comfort appeared, but all continued hid. I was also at this time so 
really possessed with the thought of death, that oft I was as if I was on the 
ladder with the rope about my neck. Only this was some encouragement to 
me ; I thought I might now have an opportunity to speak my last words unto 
a multitude, which I thought would come to see me die ; and, thought I, if, 
it must be so, if God will but convert one soul by my last words, I shall not 
count my life thrown away, nor lost. 

"But yet all the things of God were kept out of my sight; and still the 
tempter followed me with, 'but whither must you go when you diel what 
v\ ill become of you 1 where will you be found in another world '? what evi- 
dence have you for heaven and glory, and an inheritance among them that are 
sanctified 1' Thus was I tossed for many weeks, and knew not what to do. 
At last, this consideration fell with weight upon me, that it was for the word 
and way of God that I was in this condition, wherefore I was engaged not to 
flinch a hair's breadth from it. I thought also that God might choose whether 
he would give me comfort now, or at the hour of death ; but I might not there- 
fore choose, whether I would hold my profession or not. I was bound, but 
He was free. Yea, it was my duty to stand to his word, whether He would 
ever look upon me or save me at the last ; wherefore, thought I, the point 
being thus, I am for going on, and venturing my eternal state with Christ, 
whether I have comfort here or no. If God doth not come in, thought I, I 
will leap off the ladder even blindfold into eternity ; sink or swim — -come 
heaven, come hell ; — Lord Jesus, if thou wilt catch me, do : — if not, I will 
venture for thy name I" John Bunyan did not ask himself how far the case 
of those martyrs, whose example he was prepared to follow, resembled the 
situation in which he was placed. Such a question, had ho been cool enough 
to entertain it, might have shown him that they had no other alternative than 
idolatry or the stake : but that he was neither called upon to renounce any 
thing that he did believe, nor to profess any thing that he did not ; that the 
congregation to which he belonged held at that time their meetings unmo- 
lested ; that he might have worshipped when he pleased, where he pleased, 
and how he pleased ; that he was only required not to go about the country 
holding conventicles ; and that the cause for that interdiction was — not that 
persons were admonished in such conventicles to labour for salvation, but that 
they were exhorted there to regard with abhorrence that Protestant Church 
which is essentially part of the constitution of this kingdom, from the doctrines 
of which church, except in the point of infant baptism, he did not differ a 
hair's breadth. This I am bound to observe, because Bunyan has been, and 
no doubt will continue to be, most wrongfully represented as having been the 
victim of intolerant laws, and prelatical oppression. 

But greater strength of will and strength of heart could not have been man 

ifested, if a plain duty wherewith there may be no compromise had called for 

that sacrifice which he w^as ready to have made. I would be wronging him 

here were the touching expression of his feelings under these circumstances 

5* 



54 LIFE OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 

to be withheld. *' I found myself," he says, " a man encompassed with infirm- 
ities. The parting with my wife and poor children, hath often been to me 
m this place, as the pulling the flesh from the bones ; and that not only be- 
cause I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should 
have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries and wants that 
my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them ; especiallj 
my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all besides. Oh, the thoughts 
of the hardships I thought my poor blind one might go under would break my 
heart to pieces ! — Poor child ! thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have 
for thy portion in this world ! Thou must be beaten ; must beg ; suffer 
hunger, cold, nakedness and a thousand calamities, though I cannot now 
endure the wind should blow upon thee ! Bat yet, recalling myself, thought 
I, I must venture you all with God, though it goeth to the quick to leave you f 
Oh, I saw in this condition I was a man who was pullingdown his house upon 
the heads of his wife and children ; yet, thought I, I must do it, I must do it ! 
And now I thought on those two milch-kine that were to carry the Ark of 
God into another country and to leave their * calves behind them." 

These fe^rs past away when he found that no further proceedings were 
intended against him. But his worldly occupation was gone, for there was 
an end of tinkering as well as of his ministerial itinerancy ; " he was as effect- 
ually called away from his pots and kettles," says Mr. Ivimey, "as the 
apostles were from mending their nets ;" he learned therefore to make tagged 
thread-laces, and by this means supported his family. They lost the comfort 
of his presence ; but in other respects their condition was not worsened by 
his imprisonment, which indeed was likely to render them objects of kindness 
as well as of compassion to their neighbours. In an age when the state of our 
prisons was disgraceful to a Christian people, and the treatment of prisoners 
not unfrequently most inhuman, Bunyan was fortunate in the place of his 
confinement and in the disposition of his jailer, who is said to have committed 
the management of the prison to his care, knowing how entirely he might be 
trusted. He had the society there of some who were suffering for the same 
cause ; he had his Bible and his Book of Martyrs ; and he had leisure to brood 
over his own thoughts. The fever of his enthusiasm had spent itself; the 
asperity of his opinions was softened as his mind enlarged ; and the Pilgrim's 
Progress was one of the fruits of his imprisonment. But before that work is 
spoken of more particularly, it will be convenient to pursue the story of his 
life to its close. 

He remained a prisoner twelve years. But it appears that during the last 
four of those years he regularly attended the Baptist meeting, his name being 
always in the records ; and in the eleventh year the congregation chose him 
for their pastor, " he at the same time accepted the invitation, and gave him- 
self up to serve Christ and his church in that charge, and received of the 
Elders the right hand of fellowship." The more recent historian of the Bap- 
tists says, " how he could exercise his pastoral office in preaching among 
them, while he continued a prisoner in the jail, we are at a loss to conceive :"-— 
* 1 Samuel vi. 10. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYA/J. 55 

unquestionably only by being a prisoner at large, and having the liberty of the 
town while he lodged in the prison. There is a print in which be is repre- 
sented as pursued by a rabble to his own door ; but there is no allusion to any 
such outrage in any part of his works : in his own neighbourhood, where he 
had always lived, it is most unlikely to have happened ; and if Bunyan had 
any enemies latterly, they were among the bigots of his own persuasion. His 
character had by this time obtained respect, his books had attracted notice, 
*nd Dr. Barlow, then Bishop of Lincoln, and other Churchmen, are said to 
have pitied " his hard and unreasonable sufferings so far as to stand very much 
his friends in procuring his enlargement."* How this was affected is not 
known. 

From this time life appears to have past smoothly. His congregation and 
his other friends bought ground and built a meeting-house for him, and there 
he continued to preach before large audiences. Every year he used to visit 
London, where his reputation was so great that if a day's notice were given, 
*' the meeting-house in Southwark, at which he generally preached, would not 
hold half the people that attended. Three thousand persons have been gath- 
ered together there ; and not less than twelve hundred on week days, and 
dark winter's mornings at seven o'clock." He used also to preach in the 
surrounding counties. The Baptist congregation at Hitchin is supposed to 
have been founded by him. Then meetings were held at first about three 
miles from that town, in a wood near the village of Preston, Bunyan standing 
in a pit, or hollow, and the people round about on the sloping sides. " A 
chimney corner at a house in the same wood is still looked upon with vener- 
ation, as having been the place of his refreshment." About five miles from 
Hitchin was a famous Puritan preaching place called Bendish. It had been 
a malt house, was very low, and thatched, and ran in two directions, a large 
square pulpit standing in the angles ; and adjoining the pulpit was a high pew, 
in which ministers sat out of sight of informers, and from which, in case of 
alarm they could escape into an adjacent lane. The building being much 
decayed, this meeting was removed in 1787 to a place called Coleman Green ; 
and the pulpit, which was there held to be the only remaining one in which 
Bunyan had preached, was with a commendable feeling carefully removed 
thither. But another " true pulpit," is shown in London, in the Jewin street 
meeting. It is said that Owen greatly admired his preaching, and that being 

* This is the statement given in the continuation of his hfe, appended to his o\vn ac- 
count of himself, and supposed to have been written by Charles Doe, a Baptist minister, 
who was intimately acquainted with him. Mr. Ivimey, however, to invalidate this pro- 
daces a passage from the preface to one of Owen's sermons : this passage says, that 
" Bunyan was confined upon an excommunication for noncomformity ; that there w?^ a 
law that if any two persons would go to the bishop of the diocess, and oifer a cautionary 
bond that the prisoner should conform in half a year, the bishop might release him 
upon t7aat bond ; that Barlow was apphed to, to do this, by Owen whose tutor he had 
been ; that Barlow refused unless the lord chancellor would issue out an order to him 
to take the cautionary bond and release the prisoner : that this, though very chargeable, 
was dcme, and that Bunyan was then set at liberty, but little thanks to the bishop." 
"From this account," says Mr. Ivimey, "'it should seem the honour given to Dr. Barlow 
has been ill bestowed." Upon this statement it will be sufficient to observe that Bunyan 
was not imprisoned upon a sentence of excommunication ; and that he would not have 
been imprisoned at all, if he vrould have allowed his friends to enter into a bond for him, 
far less objectionable on his part than the fraudulent one upon which, it is here pre- 
tended, he was released at last. 



56 LIFi; OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 

asked by Charles II., " how a learned man such as he could sit and listen to 
an illiterate tinker ;" he replied, " May it please your majesty, could I possess 
that tinker's abilities for preaching, I would most gladly relinquish all my 
iearning." 

This opinion would be discreditable to Owen's judgment, if he really enter- 
tained it, and the anecdote were entitled to belief. For great part of Bun-, 
yan's tracts are supposed to contain the substance of his sermons, which it is 
said he commonly committed to writing, after he had preached them ; and 
certainly if he had left no other proofs of his genius, these would not have 
perpetuated his name. But the best sermons are not always those which 
produce most effect in delivery. A reader may be lulled to sleep by the dead 
letter of a printed discourse, who would have been roused and thrilled if the 
same discourse had come to him m a stream of living oratory, enforced by the 
tones, and eye, and countenance, and gestures of the preacher. One who is 
as much in earnest as he was, even if his matter should be worse, and his 
manner feebler, will seldom fail to move hearers, when they see that he is 
moved himself. But Bunyan may be supposed to have been always vehement 
and vigorous in delivery, as he frequently is in his language. One day when 
he had preached " with peculiar warmth and enlargement," some of his friends 
came to shake hands with him after the service, and observed to him what 
"a sweet sermon" he had delivered. "Ay I" he replied, "you need not 
remind me of that ; for the devil told me of it before I was out of the pulpit." 
This anecdote authenticates itself. 

He became a voluminous writer, and published about three score tracts or 
books. They have been collected into two folio volumes, but indiscrimi- 
nately arranged, and without any notice of their respective dates : and this is a 
great fault : for by a proper arrangement, or such notices, the progress of his mind 
might more satisfactorily be traced. Some passages occur in them which may 
make us shudder ; these are very few, and in what may probably be deemed 
bis earher works, because such passages are found in them. A very few also 
there are in which the smut of his old occupation has been left upon the paper. 
The strongest prejudice which he retained, and precisely for this reason that 
it was the most unreasonable, was his dislike of the Liturgy — the Book of 
Common Prayer, being, like " the common salutation of women," "what he 
could not away with." But the general tenor of his writings is mild, 
and tolerant, and charitable ; and if Calvinism had never worn a blacker 
appearance than :n Bunyan's works, it could never have become a term of 
reproach ; nor have driven so many pious minds, in horror of it, to an opposite 
extreme. 

Bunyan looked for a Millennium, though he did not partake of the madness 
of the fifin-monarchy men, nor dream of living to see it. He agreed with 
the Particular or stricter Baptists that church-communion was to be held with 
those only, who are " visible Saints by calling ;" that is, with those who make 
a profession of faith and repentance and holiness, and who are now called 
Professors in their own circle, but in those days took to themselves compla 
cently the appellation of Saints. He dared not hold communion with others 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 51 

he said, because the Scriptures so often command that all the congregation 
should be holy ; and because so to do, would be ploughing with an ox and an 
ass together ; and because God has threatened to plague the " mingled peo 
pie" with dreadful punishments. " It is all one," he says, " to communicate 
with the profane, and to sacrifice to the devil." But he held that difference 
of opinion concerning baptism should be no bar to communion ; and for this 
he was attacked by Kiffin and Jessey, two of the most eminent among the 
Baptists. The more particular Particulars had long been displeased with his 
tolerance upon this point, and had drawn away some of his congregation ; and 
Bunyan complained of this " Church-rending" spirit. "Yourself," he says to 
KifRn, " could you but get the opportunity, under pretence of this innocent 
ordinance as you term it, of water-baptism, would not stick to make inroads 
and outroads too, in all the churches that suit not your fancy in the land ! For 
you have already been bold to affirm that all those that have baptized infants, 
ought to be ashamed and repent, before they be showed the pattern of the house : 
and what is this but to threaten that, could you have your will of them, you 
would quickly take from them their present church privileges'!" He com- 
plains of " brethren of the baptized way who would not pray with men as good 
as themselves, because they were not baptized, (that is, re-baptized) — but 
would either like Quakers stand with their hats on their heads, or else with- 
draw till they had done." 

One of his opponents had said upon this subject, that " if it be preposterous 
and wicked for a man and woman to cohabit together, and to enjoy the privi- 
leges of a married estate" without the solemnity of public marriage, "so it is 
no less disorderly upon a spiritual account for any one to claim the privileges 
of a church, or to be admitted to the same, till they had been under the solem- 
nity of re-baptism." " These words," said Bunyan, " are very black ; — I wot 
that through ignorance and a preposterous zeal he said it. God give him 
repentance !" They neither judged nor spoke so charitably of him : they 
called him a Machiavelian, a man devilish, proud, insolent and presumptuous ; 
— some compared him to the Devil ; others to a Bedlamite, others to a sot ; 
and they sneered at his low origin and the base occupation from which he had 
risen : " such insults," said he, " I freely bind unto me, as an ornament among 
the rest of my reproaches, till the Lord shall wipe them off at his coming." 
They reproached him for declining a public conference with them in London 
upon the matter in dispute. To this he answered thus : " the reason why I 
came not amongst you, was partly because I consulted mine own weakness, 
and counted not myself, being a duU-headed man, able to engage so many of 
the chief of you as I was then informed intended to meet me. I also feared 
in personal disputes, heats and bitter contentions might arise, a thing my 
spirit hath not pleasure in. I feared also that both myself and words would 
be misrepresented ; — for if they that answer a book will alter and screw argu- 
ments out of their places, and make my sentences stand in their own words, 
not mine, when, I say, my words are in a book to be seen ; what would you 
have done had I in the least, either in matter or manner, though but seemingly 
miscarried among you 1" 



58 LIFE OF JOHN HUNYAN. 

Throughout this controversy Bunyan appear*? to great advantage as a meek 
good man, beyond the general spirit of his age in toleration, and far beyond 
that of his fellov^r sectarians. His vfas indeed so Catholic a spirit, that though 
circumstances had made him a sectarian, he liked not to be called by the de- 
nomination of his sect. " I knew none," says he, " to whom that title is so 
proper as to the disciples of John. And since you would know by what name. 
I would be distinguished from others, I tell you, I would be, and I hope I am, 
a Christian ; and choose if God should count me worthy, to be called a 
Christian, a Believer, or other such name which is approved by the Holy 
Ghost. And as for those factious titles of Anabaptists, Independents, Pres- 
byterians, or the like, I conclude that they come neither from Jerusalem nor 
from Antioch, but rather from Hell and Babylon ; for they naturally tend to 
divisions. You may know them by their fruits." 

In another of his treatises he says, "jars and divisions, wranglings ard 
prejudices eat out the growth, if not the life of religion. These are those 
waters of Marah that imbitter our spirits, and quench the spirit of God. Unity 
and Peace is said to be like the dew of Hermon,* and as a dew that descended 
upon Sion, when the Lord promised his blessing. Divisions run religion into 
briers and thorns, contentions and parties. Divisions are to churches, like 
wars in countries ; where war is, the ground lieth waste and untilled ; none 
takes care of it. It is love that edifieth, but division pulleth down. Divisions 
are as the northeast wind to the fruits, which causeth them to dwindle away to 
nothing : but when the storms are over, every thing begins to grow. When 
men are divided they seldom speak the truth in love ; and then no marvel, 
they grow not up to Him in all things which is the head. — It is a sad presage 
of an approaching famine, (as one well observes) — not of bread, nor water, 
but of hearing the Word of God, when the thin ears of com devour the plump 
full ones ; when our controversies about doubtful things, and things of less 
moment eat up our zeal, for the more indisputable and practical things in 
religion ; which may give us cause to fear, that this will be the character by 
which our age will be known to posterity, that it was the age which talked of 
religion most, and loved it least." It is of the divisions among those who 
could as little conform with one another, as with the Church of England, that 
he is here speaking. And when his Mr. Badman says, " that no sin reigneth 
more in the world than pride among professors," and asks, " who is prouder 
than your professors 1 scarcely the devil himself." Bunyan assents to this 
condemnation in the character of Mr. Wiseman, saying, " Who can contradict 
him . the thing is too apparent for any man to deny." In his last sermon he 
complains of tiie many prayerless professors in London, " Coffee-houses," he 
says, " will not let you pray ; trades will not let you pray ; looking-glasses 
will not let you pray : but if you was born of God you would." In another 
place his censure is directed against the prayerfull ones. " The Pharisee, 
saith the text, stood and prayed with himself. It is at this day," says Bunyan, 
'" wonderful common, for men to pray extempore also : to pray by a book, by 
a premeditated set form, is now out of fashion : he is counted nobody now, 
* Psalm cxxxiij.3. 



LIFE OF JOHN KUNYAN, 59 

that cannot at any time, at a minute's warning, make a prayer of half an hour 
long. I am not against extempore prayer, for I believe it to be the best kind 
of praying; but yet I am jealous that there are a great many such prayers 
made, especially in pulpits and public meetings, without the breathing of the 
Holy Ghost in them : for if a Pharisee of old could do so, why may not a 
Pharisee now do the same 1 — Great is the formality of religion this day, and 
little the power thereof ! — How proud, how covetous, how like the world in 
garb and guise, in words and actions, are most of the great professors of this 
our day ! But when they come to divine worship, especially to pray, by theii 
words and carriage there, one would almost judge them to be angels in 
heaven." Thus it appears Bunyan, like Wesley, lived to perceive " that 
often where there is most profession, there is least piety." 

This is manifest also in another passage, which is moreover worthy of 
notice because it is in Bishop Latimer's vein. It is in his " Heavenly Foot- 
man ; or description of the man that gets to heaven, together with the way he 
runs in, the marks he goes by ; also some directions how to run so as to 
obtain." No doubt it contains the substance of some of his sermons ; and 
to sermons in such a strain, however hearers might differ in taste and in opin- 
ions, there are none who would not listen. — " They that will have heaven, 
they must run for it, because the devil, the law, siii, death and hell, follow 
them. There is never a poor soul that is going to heaven, but the devil, the 
law, sin, death and hell, make after that soul. ' The devil, your adversary, as 
a roaring lion, goeth about, seeking whom he may devour.' And I will assure 
you, the devil is nimble ; he can run apace ; he is light of foot ; he hath over- 
taken many ; he hath turned up their heels, and hath given them an everlasting 
fall. Also the law 1 that can shoot a great way : have a care thou keep out 
of the reach of those great guns the ten commandments ! Hell also hath a 
wide mouth ; and can stretch itself farther than you are aware of ! And as 
the angel said to Lot, ' Take heed, look not behind thee, neither tarry thou in 
all the plain, (that is any where between this and heaven,) lest thou be con- 
sumed,' so say I to thee, take heed, tarry not, lest either the devil, hell, death, 
or the fearful curses of the law of God do overtake thee, and throw thee down 
in the midst of thy sins so as never to rise and recover again. If this were 
well considered, then thou, as well as I, wouldst say, they that will have 
heaven must run for it !" 

" But, if thou wouldst so run as to obtain the kingdom of heaven, then, be 
sure that thou get into the way that leadeth thither : for it is a vain thing to 
think that ever thou shalt have the prize, though thou runnest never so fast, 
unless thou art in the way that leads to it. Set the case, that there should be 
a man in London that was to run to York for a wager ; now though he run 
never so swiftly, yet if he run full south, he might run himself quickly out of 
breath, and be never the nearer the prize, but rather the farther off; just so is 
it here : it is not simply the runner, nor yet the hasty runner, that winneth the 
crown, unless he be in the way that leadeth thereto. I have observed, that 
little time that I have been a professor, that there is a great running to and fro, 
some this way, and some that way, vet it is to be feared most of them are out 



60 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

of the way ; and then, though they run as swift as the eagle can fly, they are 
benefited nothing at all! — Here is one run a Quaking, another a Ranting; 
one again runs after the Baptism, and another after the Independency. Here's 
one for Free-will, and another for Presbytery ; and yet possibly most of these 
sects run quite the wrong way ; and yet every one is for his life, his soul — 
either for heaven or hell ! — Mistrust thy own strength, and throw it away ! 
Down on thy knees in prayer to the Lord, for the spirit of truth ! Keep com- 
pany with the soundest Christians that have most experience of Christ : and 
be sure thou have a care of Quakers, Ranters, Free-willers : also do not have 
too much company with some Anabaptists, though I go under that name 
myself." 

Little has been recorded of Bunyan during the sixteen years betvyreen his 
enlargement and his death. It appears that besides his yearly visit to London, 
he made stated circuits into other parts of England ; that he exerted himself 
to relieve the temporal wants of those who were suffering as nonconformists 
under oppressive laws ; that he administered diligently to the sick and afflicted, 
and successfully employed his influence in reconciling differences among 
"professors of the gospel," and thus prevented "many disgraceful and bur- 
densome litigations." One of his biographers thinks it highly probable that 
he did not escape trouble in the latter part of Charles the second's reign " as 
the justices of Bedford were so zealous in the cause of persecution ;" but it is 
much more probable that in a place where so much indulgence had been shown 
him during the latter years of his imprisonment, he was let alone ; and there 
can be little doubt but that if he had undergone any farther vexation for the 
same causes, a full account of it would have been preserved. At Bedford 
where he was liked as well as known, he was evidently favoured : in other 
places he would be exposed to the same risk as other nonconforming preach- 
ers ; and there is a tradition among the Baptists at Reading that he sometimes 
went through that town dressed like a carter, and with a long whip in his hand, 
to avoid detection. Reading was a place where he was well known : the 
house in which the Baptists n.et for worship was in a lane there, and from the 
back door they had a bridge over a branch of the river Kennett, whereby in 
case of alarm they might escape. In a visit to that place he contracted the 
disease which brought him to the grave. A friend of his who resided there 
had resolved to disinherit his son ; the young man requested Bunyan to inter- 
fere in his behalf; he did so with good success, and it was his last labour of 
love ; for returning to London on horseback through heavy rain, a fever ensued 
which, after ten days, proved fatal. 

He died at the house of his friend Mr. Stradwick, a grocer, at the sign of 
the star on Snow Hill, and was buried in that friend's vault in Bunhill Fields* 
burial-ground, which the Dissenters regard as their Campo Santo — and espe- 
cially for his sake. It is said that many have made it their desire to be 
interred as near as possible to the spot where his remains are deposited. 
His age and the date of his decease are thus recorded in his epitaph : Mr. 
John Bunyan, Author of the Pilgrini's Progress, ob. 12 Aug. 1688, 
aet 60. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 61 

The nigrim's Progress now is finished, 
And death lias laid him in his earthly bed. 

It appears that at the time of his death, the Lord Mayor, Sir John Shorter,* 
vas one of his London flock. But though he had obtained favour among the 
magist'iracy, he was not one of those nonconformists who were duped by the 
insidious liberality of the government at that time, and lent their aid to meas- 
ures which were intended for the destruction of the Protestant faith. " It is 
said, that he clearly saw through the designs of the court in favour of popery," 
(blind indeed must they have been who did not !) when James granted his 
indulgence to the Dissenters; and that "he advised his brethren to avail 
themselves of the sunshine by diligent endeavours to spread the gospel, and 
to prepare for an approaching storm by fasting and prayer." " He foresaw," 
says the Baptist minister who added a supplement to his account of his own 
life, '*all the advantages that could redound to the Dissenters would have been 
no more than what Polyphemus, the monstrous giant of Sicily would have 
allowed Ulysses — to wit, " that he would cat his men first, and do him the 
favour of being eaten last." — " When regulators went into all the cities and 
towns corporate to new model the magistracy, by turning out some and put- 
ting in others," Bunyan laboured zealously with his congregation " to prevent 
their being imposed on in that kind. And when a great man in those days, 
coming to Bedford upon some such errand, sent for him, (as was supposed) to 
give him a place of public trust, he would by no means come at him, but sent 
his excuse." 

His earliest biographer says also, that " though by reason of the many losses 
he sustained by imprisonment and spoil, his chargeable sickness, &c., his 
earthly treasure swelled not to excess, yet he always had sufficient to live 
decently and creditably." But all that Bunyan had to lose by " spoil," was 
his occupation as a tinker, which fortunately for him and the world was put 
an end to earlier than in the course of his preacher's progress he could other- 
wise have cast it off. That progress raised him to a station of respectability 
and comfort ; and he was too wise and too religious a man to desire riches 
either for himself or his children. When a wealthy London citizen offered to 
take one of his sons as an apprentice without a premium, he declined the 
friendly and advantageous offer, saying, " God did not send me to advance 
my family, but to preach the gospel." No doubt he saw something in the 
business itself, or in the way of life to which it led, unfavourable to the moral 
,.»iaracter. 

His widow put forth an advertisement stating her inability to print the 
V'T^ings which he left unpublished. They are probably hicluded in the folio 
edition of his works which was published in 1692, the year of her decease, by 
Bunyan's successor at Bedford, Ebenezer Chandler, and John Wilson, a 
brother minister of the same sect, who went in Bunyan's life time from the 
Bedford congregation to be the first pastor of a Baptist flock at Hitchin. 

Three children survived him ; there were none by the second marriage ; 

"September 6, 1668. " Few days before, died Bunyan, his Lordship's teacher, or 
chaplain ; a man said to be gifted in tliat way, though once a cobbler." Ellis's Corre« 
spondence, vol. ii., p. 161. 

6 



62 LIFE or JOHN BDNYAN. 

and the blind daughter, the only one whom it might have troubled him to leavft 
with a scanty provision, happily died before him. He is said to have kept up 
" a very strict discipline in his family, in prayer and exhortations." Such a 
discipline did not in this case produce its usual ill effect ; for according to 
what little is known of his children, they went on in the way they had been 
trained. His eldest son was forty-five years a member of the Bedford meet- 
ing ; he preached there occasionally, and was employed in visiting the disor- 
derly members ; he was therefore in good repute for discretion, as well as for 
his religious character. The names of other descendants are in the book, 
of the same meeting ; in the burial ground belonging to it his great-grand- 
daughter Hannah Bunyan was interred in 1770 at the age of 76 ; and with 
her all that is related of his posterity ends. 

A description of his character and person was drawn by his first biographer. 
" He appeared in countenance," says that friend, " to be of a stern and rough 
temper ; but in his conversation, mild and affable, not given to loquacity or 
much discourse in company, unless some urgent occasion required it ; observ- 
ing never to boast of himself, or his parts, but rather seem low in his own 
eyes, and submit himself to the judgment of others ; abhorring lying and 
swearing ; being just in all that lay in his power to his word ; not seeming to 
revenge injuries ; loving to reconcile differences, and make friendship with 
all. He had a sharp quick eye, accomplished with an excellent discerning of 
persons, being of good judgment and quick wit. As for his person he was 
tall of stature , strong boned, though not corpulent ; somewhat of a ruddy 
face, with sparkling eyes ; wearing his hair on his upper lip, after the old 
British fashion : his hair reddish, but in his later days time had sprinkled it with 
gray ; his nose well set but not declining or bending, and his mouth moderately 
large ; his forehead something high, and his habit always plain and modest. 
And thus have we impartially described the internal and external parts of a 
person, who had tried the smiles and frowns of time, not puffed up in pros- 
perity, nor shaken in adversity, always holding the golden mean." 

Mr. Whitbread, father to the distinguished member of that name, was so 
great an admirer of Bunyan, that he left by will £500 to the meeting at Bed- 
ford, expressly as a token of respect for his memory ; the interest to be dis- 
tributed annually in bread to the poor of that meeting, between Michaelmas 
and Christmas. When Bunyan's pulpit bible was to be sold among the library 
of the Rev. Samuel Palmer of Hackney, Mr. Whitbread the member gave a 
commission to bid as much for it, as the bidder thought his father, had he 
been living, would have given for a relic which he would have valued so 
highly. It was bought accordingly for twenty guineas. 

It remains now to speak of that work which has made the name of Bunyan 
famous. 

It is not known in what year the Pilgrim's Progress was first published, no 
copy of the first edition having as yet been discovered : the second is in the 
British Museum ; it is " with additions," and its date is 1678 : but as the book 
is known to have been written du«» Bnnvan's imprisonment, which termi' 



LIFE or JOHN BUNYAN. 63 

nate-i in 1672, it was probably published before his release, or at latest imme- 
diately aft-er it. The earliest with which Mr. Major has been able to supply 
me, either by means of his own diligent inquiries, or the kindness of his 
friends, is that *' eighth e-di-ti-on," so humorously introduced by Gay, and 
printed — not for Nicholas* Bod-ding-ton, but for Nathaniel Ponder, at the 
Peacock in the Poultrey, near the Church, 1682 ; for whom also the ninth 
was published in 1684, and the tenth in 1685. All these no doubt were large 
impressions. 

This noted eighth edition is " with additions ;" but there is no reason to 
suppose that they were " new ones, never made before," for the ninth and 
tenth bear the same promise and contain no alteration whatever. One passage 
of considerable length was added after the second edition — the whole scene 
between Mr. By-Ends and his three friends, and their subsequent discourse 
with Christian and Faithful. It appears to have been written with reference 
to some particular case ; and in Bunyan's circle, the name of the person in- 
tended was probably well known. Perhaps it was first inserted in the fourth 
impression, " which had many additions more than any preceding :" this is 
stated in an advertisement on the back of the frontispiece to the eighth : where 
it is also said, " the publisher observing that many persons desired to have it 
illustrated with pictures, hath endeavoured to gratify them therein : and be- 
sides those that are ordinarily printed to the fifth impression, hath provided 
thirteen copper cuts curiously engraven for such as desire them." This no- 
tice is repeated in the next edition, with this alteration, that the seventh 
instead of the fourth is named as having the additions, and the eighth as that 
which had the ordinary prints. I can only say with certainty that no additions 
have been made subsequently to the eighth, and no other alterations than such 
verbal ones as an editor has sometimes thought proper to make, or as creep 
into all books which are reprinted without a careful collation of the text. 

The rapidity with which these editions succeeded one another, and the 
demand for pictures to illustrate them, are not the only proofs of the popu- 
larity which the Pilgrim's Progress obtained, before the second part was 
published. In the verses prefixed to that part Bunyan complains of dishonest 
imitators. 

some have of late to counterfeit 

My Pilgrim, to their own, my title set ; 
Yea others, half my name and title too, 
Have stitched to their book, to make them do. 

Only one of these has fallen in my vsay — for it is by accident only that books 
of this perishable kind, which have no merit of their own to preserve them, 
are to be met with : and this though entitled " the Second part of the Pil- 
grim's Progress,"! has no other relation to the first than its title, which was 

* This immortal name appears to the sixth edition of the second part, "printed for 
Robert Ponder, and sold by Nicholas Boddington in Duck-Lane, 1693." 

t "From this present world of wickedness and misery, to an eternity of holiness and 
felicity, exactly described under the similitude of a dream, relating the manner and 
occasion of his setting out from, and difficult and dangerous journey through the world, 
and safe arrival at last to eternal happiness. 



64 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

probably a. trick of the publishers. These interlopers may very likely have 
given Bunyan an additional inducement to prepare a second part himself. It 
appeared in 1684 with this notice on the back of the title page : " I appoint 
Mr. Nathaniel Ponder, out no other to print this book, John Bunyan, January 
1, 1684." No additions or alterations were made in this part, though the 
author lived more than four years after its publication. 

A collation of the first part with the earliest attainable copies has enabled 
me in many places to restore good old vernacular English which had beeii 
hijudiciously altered, or carelessly corrupted. This has also been done in the 
second part ; but there I had the first edition before me, and this it is evident 
had not been inspected either in manuscript or while passing through the press, 
by any person capable of correcting it. It is plain that Bunyan had willingly 
availed himself of such corrections in the first part ; and therefore it would 
have been improper to have restored a certain vulgarism* of diction in the 
second, which the editor of the folio edition had amended. Had it not been 
for this consideration, I should perhaps have restored his own text. For 
Bunyan was confident in his own powers of expression ; he says : — 



- thine only way 



Before them all, is to say out thy say 

" They were strangers and Pilgrims on earth, but they desired a better country, that 
is a heavenly. Hebrews xi. 13, 16. 

" Let us lay aside every weighty and the sin that doth so easily beset us, and run with 
patience the race that is set before us. Hebrews xii. 1. 

"London, printed for Thomas Malthus, at the Sun, in the Poultrey. 1683." 

The Author who signs himself T. S. dedicates this book " to Him that is higher than 
the Highest ; the Almighty and everlasting Jehovah, who is the terror and confusion of 
the hardened and impenitent world, and the hope and happiness of all converted and 
returning sinners." At the conclusion is an apology for his book, wherein he says that 
the hope of delivering plain truth in a familiar manner, which should at the same time 
satisfy the judicious and yet be understood by the meanest capacities and the most illit- 
erate persons, was the motive "which put the author of the First Part of the Pilgrim's 
Progress upon composing and publishing that necessary and useful tract, which hath 
deservedly obtained such a universal esteem and commendation. And this consider- 
ation likewise, together with the importunity of others, was the motive that prevailed 
with m.e to compose and publish the following meditations in such a method as might 
sen'e as a supplement, or a second part to it : wherein I have endeavoured to supply a 
fourfold defect, which, I observe, the brevity of that discourse necessitated the author 
into : first, there is nothing said of the state of man in his first creation ; nor secondly, 
of the misery of man in his lapsed estate, before conversion : thirdly, a too bi'ief passing 
over the methods of divine goodness in the convincing, converting and reconciling of 
sinners to himself: and fourthly, I have endeavoured to deliver the whole in such seri- 
ous and spiritual phrases that may prevent that lightness and laughter, which the reading 
some passages therein occasions in some vain and frothy minds. And now that it may 
answer my design, and be universally useful, I commend both it and thee to the blessing 
of Him, whose wisdom and power, grace and goodness, it is that is only able to make it 
so. And withal I heartily wish, that what hath been formally proposed by some well- 
minded persons, might be more generallv and universally practised, viz., the giving of 
books of this nature at funerals, instead of rings, gloves, wine, or biscuit; assuring 
n)yself that reading, meditation, and several holy and heavenly discourses which may 
probably be raised upon the occasion of such presents as these, would mightily tend to 
the making people serious ; and furnish not only the person who discourses, but the 
rest who are present, and who would otherwise be employing their thoughts and tongues 
too, in such foolish, vain and frothy discourse, as is too commonly used at such times, 
with such frames of spirits as may be suitable to the greatness and solemnity of that 
occasion which then calls them together. Amongst those few who have practised this, 
abundance of good hath been observed to have been done by that means; and who 
knows, were it more generally used and become a custom amongst us at our burials 
what good might be effected thereby V 

* The vulgarism alluded to consists in the almost uniform use of o for have, — never 
marked as a contraction, as, might a made me take heed — like to a been smothered. 



LIFK OP JOHN BUNYAN, 65 

In thine own native language, which no man 
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can. 

And he might well be confident in it. His is a homespun style, not a man- 
ufactured one : and what a difference is there between its homeliness, and the 
flippant vulgarity of the Roger L'Estrange* and Tom Brown school ! If it is 
not a well of English undefiled to which the poet as well as the philologist 
must repair, if they would drink of the living waters, it is a clear stream of 
current English — the vernacular speech of his age, sometimes indeed in its 
rusticity and coarseness, but always in its plainness and its strength. To 
this natural style Bunyan is in some degree beholden for his general popu- 
larity ; — his language is every where level to the most ignorant reader, and to 
the meanest capacity : there is a homely reality about it , a nursery tale is not 
more intelligible, in its manner of narration, to a child. Another cause of his 
popularity is, that he taxes the imagination as little as the understanding. The 
vividness of his own, which, as his history shows, sometimes could not dis- 
tinguish ideal impressions from actual ones, occasioned this. He saw the 
things of which he was writing, as distinctly with his mind's eye as if they 
were indeed passing before him in a dream. And the reader perhaps sees 
them more satisfactorily to himself, because the outline only of the picture is 
presented to him, and the author having made no attempt to fill up the details 
every reader supplies them according to the measure and scope of his own 
intellectual and imaginative powers. ^ 

When Bunyan's success had raised a brood of imitators, he was accused of 
being an imitator himself. He replied to this charge in some of his most 
characteristic rhymes, which were prefixed to his Holy War, as an advertisa- 
ment to the reader. 

Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is not mine, 

Insinuating as if I would shine 

In name and fame by the worth of another, 

Like some made rich by robbing of their brother. 

Or that so fond I am of being Sire, 

I'll father bastards ; or if need require, 

I'll tell a lie in print, to get applause. 

I scorn it ; John such dirt-heap never was 

Since God converted him. Let this suffice 

To show why I my Pilgrim patronise. 

It came from mine own heart, so to my head, 

And thence into my fingers trickled ; 

Then to my pen, from whence immediately 

On paper I did dripple it daintily. 

Manner and matter too was all mine own ; 

Nor was it unto any mortal known, 

Till I had done it. Nor did any then 

By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen, 

Add five words to it, or wrote half a line 

Thereof; the whole and every whit is mine. 

* Let me not be understood as passing an indiscriminate censure upon Sir Roger 
L'Estrange's style. No better specimens of idiomatic Enghsh are to be found than in 
some of his writings ; but no baser corruptions and vilifications than in some of his 
translations. I suspect that he was led into this fault by the desire of avoiding the op- 
posite one into which his father had been betrayed. 
6* 



86 LIFE OF JOHN BUN Y AN. 

Also for This thine eye is now upon, 
The matter in this manner came from none 
But the same heart and head, fingers and pen 
As did the other. Witness all good men, 
Fpr none in all the world without a lie, 
Can say that " this is mine," excepting L 
I wrote not this of any ostentation ; 
Nor 'cause I seek of men their commendation. 
I do it to keep them from such surmise, 
As tempt them will my name to scandalize. 
Witness my name ; if anagramm'd to thee 
The letters makeNuhony in a B. 

John Bunyan. 

A passage* has already been quoted from his account of a dream, whicb 
evidently contains the germe of the Pilgrim's Progress. The same obvious 
allegory had been rendered familiar to his mind by the letter of the Italian 
martyr, Pomponius Algerius. " In this world," says that high-minded and 
triumphant witness for'the truth, " there is no mansion firm to me ; and there- 
fore I will travel up to the New Jerusalem, which is in heaven, and which 
offereth itself to me, without paying any fine or income. Behold I have en- 
tered already on my journey, where my house standeth for me prepared, and 
where I shall have riches, kinsfolks, delights, honours never failuig." 

But original as Bunyan believed his own work to be, and as in the main 
undoubtedly it is, the same allegory had often been treated before him, so 
often indeed that to notice all preceding works of this kind would far exceed 
all reasonable Umits here. Some of these may have fallen in Bunyan's way, 
and modified his own conception when he was not aware of any such influence. 
Mr. Montgomery in his very able introductory Essay to the Pilgrim's Progress, 
observes, " that a poem entitled the Pilgrimage, in Whitney's Emblems, and 
the emblem which accompanies it, may have suggested to him the first ides* 
of his story ; indeed, he says, if he had had Whitney's picture before him he 
could not more accurately have copied it in words," than in the passage where 
Evangelist directs Christian to the wicket-gate. 

Another book in which a general resemblance to the Pilgrim's Progress has 
been observed is the Voyage of the Wandering Knight, of which a translation 
from the French of the Carmelite, Jean de Carthenay, was printed in the reign 
of Elizabeth, the Carmelite himself having (as Mr. Douce has kindly informed 
me) imitated a French poem, (once very popular,) composed A. D. 1310, by 
Guill. de Guilleville, a monk of Ch'anliz, and entitled the Pelerin de la Vie 
Humaine. There is a vague general resemblance in the subject of this work, 
and some occasional resemblance in the details ; but the coincidences are such 
as the subject would naturally lead to, and the Pilgrim's Progress might have 
been exactly what it is, whether Bunyan had ever seen this book or not. But 

* There is another in his Heavenly Footman, but I know not whether this treatise was 
written before or after the Pilgrim's Progn-ess. "Though the way to heaven be but 
one, yet there are many crooked lanes and by-paths shoot down upon it, as I may piay. 
And notwithstanding the kingdom of heaven be the biggest city, yet usually those by- 
paths are the most beaten: most travellers go those ways, and therefore the woy to 
neavea is hard to be found, and as hard to be kept in, because of these." 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 67 

he had* certainly seen Bernard's " Isle of man, or the Legal Proceedings in 
Man-shire against Sin ; wherein by way of a continued allegory, the chief 
malefactors dis'urbing both Church and Commonwealth are detected and 
attached; with their arraignment and judicial trial, according lo the laws of 
England." This was a popular book in Bunyan's time,t printed in a cheap 
form for popular sale, and '* to be sold by most booksellers." There is as 
much wit in it as in the Pilgrim's Progress, and it is that vein of witj which 
Bunyan has worked with such good success. It wants the charm of story, 
and has nothing of that romantic interest, which " holds children from sleep ;" 
and therefore its popularity has past away. But it is written with great spirit 
and ability, and for its own merit as well as for the traits of the times with 
which it abounds, well deserves to be reprinted. 

No one who reads this little book can doubt that it had a considerable eflfect 
upon the style of Bunyan's invention. The Bee had been shown by this elder 
one where honey of a peculiar flavour might be extracted, but the new honey 
was of our Bee's own gathering. 

Lately, however, a charge has been brought against John the Bee, of direct 

* Bunyan had evidently the following lively passage in his mind when he wrote the 
verses introchic-tory to his second part : 

" Well, I have clothed this Book as it is. It may be some humour took me, as once 
it did old Jacob, who apparelled Joseph differently from all the rest of his brethren in 
a party-coloured coat. It may also be that I look (as Jacob did on his Joseph) with 
more delight on this lad, than on twenty other of his brethren born before him, or on a 
younger Benjamin brought forth soon after him. — When I thus apparelled him, I in- 
tended to send him forth to his brethren, hoping thereby to procure him the more ac- 
ceptance, where he happily should come : and my expectation hath not failed : de- 
ceived altogether I am not, as was Jacob in sending his Joseph among his envious 
brethren ; for not only hundreds, but some thousands have welcomed him to their 
houses. They say they like his countenance, his habit, and manner of speaking well 
enough ; though others, too nice, be not so well pleased therewith." 

"But who can please alii or how can any one so write or speak, as to content every 
man? If any mistake me, and abuse him in their too carnal apprehension, without the 
truly intended spiritual use, let them blame themselves, and neither me nor him : for 
their fault is their own, which I wish them to amend. You that like him, I pray you still 
accept of him, for whose sake, to further your spiritual meditation, I have sent him out 
with these contents, and more marginal notes. His habit is no whit altered, which he 
is constrained by me to wear, not only on working days, but even upon holydays and 
Sundays too, if he go abroad. A fitter garment I have not now for him ; and if I should 
send out the poor lad naked, I know it would not please you. This his coat, though 
not altered in the fashion, yet it is made somewhat longer. For though from his first 
birth into the world it be near a year, yet he is grown a httle bigger. But I think him 
to become to his full stature : so he will be but as a little pigmy, to be carried abroad 
in any man's pocket. I pray you now this (second) time accept him and use him as 
I have intended for you, and you shall reap the fruit, though I forbid you not to be 
Christianly merry with him. So fare you welL in all friendly well wishes. R. B. May 
28,1627. 

t The sixteenth edition was published in 1683. It was reprinted at Bristol about thirty 
years ago. 

+ In that vein Bernard has also been followed by Bishop Womack— unless indeed 
(hat excellent divine intended in his Propria qucR maribus, to satirize the absurd names 
giveii by the Puritans to their children : this however he might intend, and yet have 
Imitated Bernard. The names of the Triers in his Examination of Tilenus, are Dr. 
Absolute, Mr. Fatality, Mr. Pretention, Mr. Efiicax, Mr. Indefectible, Dr. Confidence, 
Mr. Meanwell, Mr. Simulant, Mr. Take-o'-Trust, Mr. Impertinent, Mr w'arrow Grace, in 
whom Philip Nye was personated; Mr. Know-Little, who stood for Hugh Peters; Dr. 
Dubious, whom nobody doubts to be the representation of Baxter ; and Dr. Dam-Man, 
a name which was that of one of the Secretaries at the Dort Synod, and which to an 
English ear perfectly designated his rigid principles. 

This curious tract has been reprinted in Mr. Nichols's "Calvinism and Arminianism 
Compared," a work of more research concerning the age of James and Charles the 
First, than any other in our language. 



68 LIFF. OF JOHN HUNYAN. 

and knavish plagiarism. The following paragraph appeared in some London 
Journal, and was generally copied into the Provincial newspapers : — " The 
friends of John Bunyan will be much surprised to hear that he is not the author 
of the Pilgrim's Progress, but the mere translator. It is, however, an act of 
plagiarism, to publish it in such a way as to mislead his readers ; but it is never 
too late to call things by their right names. The truth is, that the work was 
evsn published in French, Spanish and Dutch, besides other languages, before 
John Bunyan saw it ; and we have ourselves seen a copy in the Dutch lan- 
guage, with numerous plates, printed long previous to Bunyan's time." — " It 
is very difficult," says Mr. Montgomery, " to imagine for what purpose such 
a falsehood (if it be one) should be framed ; or how such a fact (if it be a 
fact) could have been so long concealed ; or when declared thus publicly, why 
it should never have been established by the production of this Dutch copy, 
with its numerous plates. Be this as it may, till the story is authenticated it 
must be regarded as utterly unworthy of credit." 

I also, upon reading this notable paragraph in a newspaper, felt as Mont- 
gomery had done, and as, *' it is never too soon to call things by their right 
names," bestowed upon it at once its proper qualification. It would indeed 
be as impossible for me to believe that Bunyan did not write the Pilgrim's 
Progress, as that Porson did write a certain copy of verses entitled the Devil's 
Thoughts. There must have been a grievous want of common sense in the 
person who wrote the paragraph, to suppose that such a plagiarism could have 
escaped detection till he discovered it ; Bunyan's book having been translated 
into those languages, (and current in them,) in one of which, according to 
him, the original, and in the others, earlier versions of that original than the 
" English Pilgrim's Progress" were existing ! But there must have been a 
more grievous want of fidelity in his assertions. If he had been able to read 
the book which he saw, this gross accusation could never have been brought 
against John Bunyan. 

The book in question, (to which without reference to this supposed plagia- 
rism, Mr. Douce with his wonted knowledge, had previously directeu my 
attention,) I have had an opportunity of perusing, through the kindness of its 
possessor, Mr. OfFor. A person looking (Uke Bunyan's accuser) at the prints, 
and not understanding the language in which the book is written, might have 
supposed that hints had been taken from them for the adventures at the slough 
of Despond, and at Vanity-fair ; but that the Pilgrim's Progress was not ? 
translation from the work he must have known, for the Pilgrims in the prints 
are women ; and it required no knowledge of Dutch to perceive that the book 
is written not as a narrative, but in a series of dialogues. 

Bolswert the engraver is the author of this book, which is entitled the Pil- 
grimage of Dovekin and Willekin to their Beloved in Jerusalem.* The author 
v\'as a true lover of his mother tongue, and more than once laments over the 
tiashion of corrupting it with words borrowed from other languages ; all the 

• Duyf kens ende Willemynkens Pelgrimagie tot haren beminden binnen Jerusalem ; 
na'Tlieder teghenspoot, belet ende eynde. Beschreven ende metsin-spelende beelden 
vvxghegheven door Boctius a Bolswert. T' Antwerpen, by Hieronimus Verdussen, A°. 
1027. 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 6^ 

examples which he adduces of such adulterations are French. The book 
though totally neglected now, was once very popular ; my venerable friend 
Bilderdijk tells me ** that it was one of the delights of his childhood." I am 
obliged to Mr. Major for a French* translation of it, in which some interme- 
diate possessor has drawn his pen through the name of Rousseau, that name 
appearing, upon comparing it with a fac-simile in Rees's Cyclopaedia, and with 
an autograph also, to be in the hand-writing of Jean Jacques, The French 
translator, as might be expected, has carefully got rid of every thing which 
relates to Flemish manners and feelings, and the racines of the original is 
completely lost in his version. 

The two sisters Dovekin and Willekin are invited in a dream by the Be- 
loved, in the language of the Canticles to arise and come away. Willekin who 
is for a little more sleep, a little more slumber, is not inclined to accept the 
invitation, and disparages her lover, saying that he is no better than Joseph 
the carpenter and Peter the fisherman, with whom he used to keep company. 
Dovekin, however, persuades her to rise, and set off upon their pilgrimage to 
him ; it is but a day's journey : they wash at their outset in a river of clear 
water which has its source in Rome, and (taking the Netherlands in its way) 
flows to Jerusalem ; and by this river they are to keep, or they will lose them- 
selves. They gather flowers also at the beginning of their journey for the 
purpose of presenting them to the bridegroom and his mother, whose favour 
Dovekin says it is of the utmost importance to obtain, and who, she assures 
her sister, dearly loves the Netherlanders. The wilful sister collects her flow- 
ers without any choice or care, loses them, over-eats herself, and is obliged 
to go to the river to wash herself after eating ; she then finds her flowers again 
and they proceed till they come to a village, where it happens to be fair time, 
and Willekin will not be dissuaded by her prudent sister from stopping to look 
at some mountebanks. The print annexed is what was supposed to represent 
Vanity-fair, v\%ereas the story relates merely to a Flemish Kermes, and the 
only adventure which befalls the idle sister there is, that she brings away from 
■jt certain living and loathsome parasites of humanity, who pass under a generic 
appellation in the French version, but in the honest Dutch original are called 
by their own name. 

Going out of her way to admire a peacock, Willekin steps in the dirt. 
Presently she must go see some calves at play, a cow bemires her with a 
whisk of its tail, and she must repair to the river and cleanse herself thero 
again ; thank God for this river ! says Dovekin, Poor thoughtless incorri- 
gible Willekin thus goes on from one mishap to another, and taking a by-path 
falls into a ditch, which the detector of Bunyan's plagiarism immediately sup- 
posed to be his slough of Despond. She goes on committing follies at every 
occasion, and some crimes ; and the end, (for it must be needless to pursue 
the story,) is that when they come within sight of Jerusalem, she climbs a 
steep and dangerous place, notwithstanding her sister's entreaties, in order to 

• Voyage de Deux Smurs : Colombelle et Volontairette, vers leur Bien-Aime en la 
Cite de Jertisalem : contenant pliisieurs incidens arrivez pendant leur voyage. Par 
Boece de Bolswert, Nouvelle Edition corrigee et chatiee selon le stile du terns, ei 
^nriche de figitres en taille douce, A Liege, 1734. 



70 LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

obtain a better prospect ; the wind blows her down, she falls into a deep pit 
full of noxious creatures, where no help can be given her, and there she is left 
with broken bones, to her fate. Dovekin proceeds, reaches the suburbs of 
Jerusalem, undergoes a purification in a tub, then makes a triumphant entrance 
into the city of Jerusalem in a lofty chariot, and is there with all honour and 
solemnity espoused to the bridegroom. And this is the book from which 
Bunyan was said to have stolen the Pilgrim's Progress ! If ever there was a 
work which carried with it the stamp of originaUty in all its parts, it is that 
of John Bunyan's ! 

Mr. D'Israeli, from whose works the best mformed reader may learn much, 
and who in the temper of his writings as well as in the research which they 
display, may be a useful model for succeeding authors, calls Bunyan " the 
Spenser of the people." He is indeed the prince of all allegorists in prose. 
The allegory is never lost sight of in the first part : in the second it is not so 
uniformly preserved ; parties who begin their pilgrimage in childhood, grow 
up upon the way, pass through the stage of courtship, marry and are given in 
marriage, have children and dispose of their children. Yet to most readers 
this second part is as delightful as the first ; and Bunyan had perhaps more 
pleasure in composing it, not only because he was chewing the cud of his old 
inventions, but because there can be no doubt that he complimented the friends 
whom he delighted to honour, by giving them a place among the persons of his 
tale. We may be sure that Mr. Valiant-for-the-Truth, Old Honest of the town 
of Stupidity, Mr. Despondency and his daughter Much-afraid, and their com- 
panions, were well known in " Bishop Bunyan's" diocess : and if no real 
characters, were designed by him in those who are less favourably introduced 
as turning back on their journey, striking into by-paths, or slumbering by the 
way, likenesses would be discovered where none were intended. 

None but those who have acquired the ill habit of always reading critically, 
can wish the Second Part had not been written, or feel it as a clog upon the 
first. There is a pleasure in travelling with another company over the same 
ground, a pleasure of reminiscence, neither inferior in kind nor in degree to 
that which is derived from a first impression. The author evidently felt this, 
and we are indebted to it for some beautiful passages of repose, such as that 
in the valley of Humiliation. The manner in which Christian's battle is refer- 
red to, and the traces of it pointed out, reminds me of what is perhaps the 
best imagined scene in Palmerin of England, where Palmerin enters a chapel, 
and is showii the tombs of some of the knights of King Lisuarte's court. 

Banyan concludes with something like a promise of a third part. There 
appeared one after his death, by some unknown hand, and it has had the for- 
tune to be included in many editions of the original work. It is impossible 
to state through how many editions that work has past ; probably no other 
book in the English language has obtained so constant and so wide a sale. 
The prints which have been engraved to illustrate it would form a collection, 
noV so extensive indeed, but almost as curious, as that which Mr. Duppa saw 
at Vallumbrosa, where a monk had got together about eight thousand different 
engravings of the Virgin Mary. The worst specimens both in wood and copper 



LIFE OF JOHN BUNYAN. 71 

would be found among them ; as now some of the best are to be added. When 
the reader has seen Giant Slaygood with Mr. Feeble-mind in his hand, he will 
I think agree with me that if a nation of Anakim existed at this day, the artist 
by whom that print was designed and executed, would deserve to be appointed 
historical painter to his Highness the Prince of the Giants 

The Pilgrim's Progress has more than once been ** done into verse," but I 
have seen only one version, and that of only the First Part. It was printed 
by R. Tookey, and to be sold by the booksellers of London and Westminster ; 
out if there be a date to this version, it has been torn off with tlie corner of 
the titlepage, from this well-thumbed and well-worn copy, for the use of which 
(as of other rare books that have been most useful on the present occasion) I 
am obliged to Mr. Alexander Chalmers. The versification is in the lowest 
Witherish strain, one degree only above Bunyan's own : yet here and there 
with indications of more power than the writer has thought proper to put forth. 
In general the version keeps close to the original : In one place a stroke of 
satire is put into Apollyon's mouth, against the occasional conformists : — 

"Come go with me occasionally back, 
Rather than a preferment lose or lack." 

And after the Pilgrims have crossed the river, this singular illustration 
occurs : — 

" Then on all sides the heavenly host enclose, 
As through the upper regions all arose ; 
With mighty shouts and louder harmonies, 
Heaven's Opera seem'd as glorious to the eyes 
As if they had drawn up the curtain of the skies." 

Though the story certainly is not improved by versifying it, it is less in- 
ured than might have been supposed in the process ; and perhaps most 
readers would read it with as much interest in the one dress as m the other. 

A stranger experiment was tried upon the Pilgrim's Progress, in translating 
it into other words, altering the names, and publishing it under the title of the 
Progress of the Pilgrim,* without any intimation that this version is not an 
original work. Evangelist is here called Good-news ; Worldly Wiseman, 
Mr. Politic Worldly ; Legality, Mr. Law-do ; the Interpreter, Director ; the 
Palace Beautiful, Graces Hall ; Vanity-town is Mundus ; the Giant, is Giant 
Desperation ot Diffident Castle, and the prisoners released from it, instead of 
Mr. Despondency and his daughter Much-afraid, are "one Much-cast-dcwn, 
and his kinsman Almost Overcome." This would appear to have been merely 
the device of some knavish bookseller for evading the laws which protect 
literary property ; but the person employed in disguising the stolen goods 
must have been a Roman Catholic, for he has omitted all mention of Giant 
Pope, and Fidelius suffers martyrdom by being hanged, drawn, and quartered. 

* " In two Parts compleat. Part I. His pilgrimage from the present world to tha 
world to come ; discovering the difficulties of his setting forth, the hazards of his jour 
ney ; and his safe arrival at the Heevenly Canaan. Part II. The pilgrimage of Chris- 
tiana, the wife of Christianus, with her four children ; describing their dangerou.s 
journey, and safe arrival at the Land of the Blessed, written byway of dream. Adorned 
with several new pictures. Hos. xii. 10. I have used si7mlttudes." London: printec 
by W. O. for J. Blare, at the Looking Glass, on London-Bridge, 1705. 



3 l.tFB OF JOHN BUNYAN. 

Tlie dialogues are much curtailed, and the book, as might be expected, very 
much worsened throughout ; except that better verses are inserted. 

Bunyan could little have supposed that his book would ever be adapted for 
sale among the Romanists. Whether this was done in the earliest French 
translation I do not know ; but in the second there is no Giant Pope ; and. 
.est the circumstances of the author should operate unfavourably for the recep- 
tion of his work, he is designated as un Ministre Anglois, nomme Jean Bun- 
ian, Pasteur dhme Eglise dans la Ville de Bedfort en Angleterre. This 
contains only the first part, but promises the second, should it be well received. 
The first part under the title of le Pelerinage d''un nomme Chretien, forms 
one of the volumes of the Petite Bibliotheque dii Catholiqiie, and bears in. the 
titlepage a glorified head of the Virgin. A Portuguese translation, (of the 
first part also,) in like manner cut down to the opinions of the public for 
which it was designed, was published in 1782. Indeed I believe there is no 
European language into which the Pilgrim's Progress has not been translated. 
The Holy War has been little less popular ; and if the Life and Death of Mr 
Badman has not been as generally read, it is because the subject is less agree- 
able, not that it has been treated with inferior ability. 

I have only now to express my thanks to Mr. Rodd the bookseller, for the 
niformation with which he kindly assisted me ; and to Mr. Major, who in 
publishing the most beautiful edition that has ever appeared of this famous 
book, has, by sparing no zeal in the collection of materials for it, enabled me 
to say that it is also the most correct. 

In one of the volumes collected from various quarters, which were sent me 
for this purpose, I observe the name of W. Hone, and notice it that I may 
take the opportunity of recommending his Every-Day Book, and Table-Book, 
to those who are interested in the preservation of our national and local cus- 
toms. By these very curious publications their compiler has rendered good 
service in an important department of literature ; and he may render yet more 
if he obtain the encouragement which he well deserves. 
Kbswiok Marcb 13^ IS30 



LINES 

ON SEEING THE PORTRAIT* OF JOHN BUN VAN, 

ENGRAVED FOR THIS WORK. 

And this is Bunyan ! How unlike the duh 

Unmeaning visage which vi'as wont to stand 
His Pilgrim's Frontispiece — it's pond'rous scull 

Propp'd gracelessly on an enormous hand ; — 

A countenance one vainly might have scann'd 
For one bright ray of genius or of sense ; 

Much less the mental power of him who plann'd 
This fabric quaint of rare intelligence, 
And, having rear'd its pile, became immortal thence. 

But here we trace, iridelibly defined, 

All his admirers' fondest hopes could crave, 
Shrewdness of intellect, and strength of mind, 

Devout, yet lively, and acute though grave ; 

Worthy of Him whose rare invention gave 
To serious Truth the charm of Fiction's dress, 

Yet in that fiction sought the soul to save 
From earth and sin for heaven and happiness. 
And by his fancied dreams men's waking hours to blesj 

Delightful Author ! while I look upon 

This striking Portraiture of thee — I seem 
As if my thoughts on Pilgrimage were gone 

Down the far vista of thy pleasant Dream, 

Whose varied scenes with vivid wonders teem. — 
Slough op Despond ! Thy terrors strike mine eye ; 

Over the Wicket Gate I see the gleam 
Of Shining Light ; and catch that Mountain high, 
Of Difficult ascent, the Pilgrim's faith to try. 

The House call'd Beautiful ; the lowly Vale 

Of Self Humiliation, where the might 
Of Christian panoplied in heavenly mail, 

O'ercame Apollyon in that fearful fight ; 

The Valley, named of Death, by shades of night 

* For the Authenticity of the Likeness here faithfully copied, vide Walpole's Anec- 
doles of Paintiag by Dallaway, vol. lit. p. 262. J. M. 
73 7 



LIKKS ON PORTKAIT OK HHiNYAN. 

Eiiconipass'd, and witli horrid phantoms rile ; 
The Town of Vanity, where bigot spite, 
Ever with Christian Pilgrimage at strife, 
To martyr'd Faithful gave the Crown of endless liife ' 

Thence, on with Christian, and his Hopeful peer, 

To Doubting Castle's dungeons I descend ; 
The Key of Promise opes those vaults of fear ; — 

And now o'er Hills Delectable I wend 

To Beulah's sunny plains, where sweetly blend 
Of flowers, and fruits, and song a blissful maze ; 

'Till at the Bridgeless Stream my course I end, 
E) ing the farther shore with rapture's gaze, 
Vhere that Bright City basks in glory's sunless blaze ' 

Immortal Dreamer ! while thy magic page 

To such celestial visions can give birth. 
Well may this Portraiture our love engage, 

Which gives, with grace congenial to thy worth, 

The form thy living features wore on earth : 
For few may boast a juster, prouder claim 

Than thine, whose labours blending harmless mirth 
AVith sagest counsel's higher, holier aini, 
Have from the wise and good won honourable Fame. 

A.nd still for marvelling Childhood, blooming Youth, 
Ripe Manhood, silver-tress'd and serious Age, — 

Ingenious Fancy, and instructive Truth 
Richly adorn thy allegoric page. 
Pointing the warfare Christians yet must wage, 

Who wish to journey on that heavenly road ; 
And tracing clearly each successive stage 

Of the rough path thy holy Travellers trod, 

The Pilgrim' » Progress marks to glory, and to God I 

BERNARD BARTON. 



% 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME? 

DELIVERED UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM! 

PART I., 

WHEREIN ARE DISCOVERED, 

THE MANNER OF HIS SETTING OUT ; 

HIS DANGEROUS JOURNEY; 

AND SAFE ARRIVAL AT THE DESIRED COUNTRY 

BY JOHN BUNYAN. 

"I HAVE USED SIMILITUDES." -HOSEA, c. XII. v. 10. 



I 



t 



I 



THE 

AUTHOR'S APOLOGY 

FOR HIS BOOK. 

When at the first I took my pen in hand. 
Thus for to write, I did not understand 
That I at all should make a little booK. 
In such a mode : Nay, I had undertook 
To make another ; which when almost done. 
Before I was aware, I this begun. 

And thus it was : I, writing of the way 
And race of saints in this our gospel-dav. 
Fell suddenly into an allegory 
About their journey, and the way to glory, 
In more than twenty things, which I set down :' 
This done, I twenty more had in my crown ; 
And they again began to multiply, 
Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. 
Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast, 
I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out 
The book that I already am about. 

"Well, so I did ; but yet I did not think 
To show to all the world my pen and ink 
In such a mode ; I only thought to make 
I knew not what ; nor did I undertake 
Thereby to please my neighbour; no, not I ; 
I did it mine own self to gratify. 

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
In this my scribble ; nor did I intend 
But to divert myself, in doing this, 
From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss. 

Thus I set pen to paper with delight, 
And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. 
For having now my method by the end. 
Still as I puU'dj it came ; and so I penn'd 



77 



THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY. 

It down ; until at last it came to be, 

For length and breadth, the bigness which you see. 

Well, when I had thus put my ends together, 
I show'd them others, that I might see whether 
They would condemn them, or them justify ; 
And some said, Let them live ; some, Let them die j 
Some said, John, print it : others said, Not so : 
Some said, It might do good ; others said, No. 

Now, was I in a strait, and did not see 
W^iicn was the best thing to be done by nie : 
At last I thought, since you are thus divided, 
I print it will, and so the case decided. 

For, thought I, some I see would have it done. 
Though others in that channel do not run : 
To prove, then, who advised for the best, 
Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. 

I further thought, if now I did deny 
Those that would have it thus to gratify, 
I did not know but hinder them I might 
Of that which would to them be great delight : ' 
For those which were not for its coming forth, 
I said to them. Offend you I am loath ; 
Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be, 
Forbear to judge, till you do further see. 

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone ; 
Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone ; 
Yea, that I might them better moderate, 
I did too with them thus expostulate :— : 

May I not write in such a style as this 1 
In such a method too, and yet not miss 
My end, thy good 1 Why may it not be done 1 
Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none. 
Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops 
Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops, 
Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either. 
But treasures up the fruit they yield together; 
Yea, so commixes both, that in their fruit 
None can distinguish this from that ; they suit 
Her well when hungry ; but, if she be full. 
She spews out both, and makes their blessing null. 

You see the ways the fisherman doth take 
To catch the fish : what engines doth he makel 
Behold ! how he engageth all his wits ; 
Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets , 
Yet fish there be, that neither hook nor line. 
Nor snare, nor net, nor engine, can make thine : 



nil. ALiTHOR's Ai'Oi,i.f,Y. 79 

They must be grop'd for, and be tickled too. 
Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do. 

How does the fowler seek to catch his game ! 
B) divers means, all which one cannot name : 
His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell . 
He creeps, he goes, he stands : yea, who can tell 
Of all his postures ^ Yet there's none of these 
Will make him master of what fowls he please. 
Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this, 
Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss. 

If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell, 
And may be found too in an oyster shell : 
If things that promise nothing do contain 
What better is than gold, who will disdain, 
That have an inkling of it, there to look, 
That they may find it 1 Now, my little book 
(Though void of all these paintings, that may make 
It with this or the other man to take) 
Is not without those things that do excel 
What do in brave but empty notions dwell. 

Well, yet lam not fully satisfy' d, 
That this your book will stand, ivhen soundly try''d. 

Why, what's the matter 1 It is dark ! What though ! 
But it is feigned. What of that I trow 1 
Some men, by feigned words, as dark as mine, 
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine ! 
But they want solidness. Speak, man, thy mind ' 
They drown the weak ; metaphors make us hlirid 

Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen 
Of him that writeth things divine to men: 
But must I needs want solidness, because 
By metaphors I speak ^ Were not God's laws, 
His gospel laws, in olden time held forth 
By shadows, types, and metaphors "^ Yet loath 
Will any sober man be to find fault 
With them, lest he be found for to assault 
The highest Wisdom : No ; he rather stoops. 
And seeks to find out what by pins and loops, 
By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams, 
By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs, 
God speaketh to him ; and happy is he 
That finds the light and grace that in them be. 

Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude 
That I want solidness, that I am rude • 



so THE author's apology. 

All things solid in show, not solid be ; 

All things in parable despise not we, 

Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive. 

And things that good are, of our souls bereave. 

My dark and cloudy words, they do but hold 
The truth, as cabinets enclose the gold. 

The prophets used much by metaphors 
To set forth truth ; yea, whoso considers 
Christ his apostles too, shall plainly see 
That truths to this day in such mantles be. 

Am I afraid to say that holy writ, 
Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit, 
Is every where so full of all these things, 
(Dark figures, allegories,) yet there springs, 
From that same book, that lustre, and those rays 
Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days. 

Come, let my carper to his life now look, 
And find there darker lines than in my book 
He findeth any ; yea, and let him know, 
That in his best things there are worse lines too. 

May we but stand before impartial men. 
To his poor one I dare adventure ten, 
That they will take my meaning in these lines 
Far better than his lies in silver shrines. 
Come, Truth, although in swaddling-clouts I find, 
Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind ; 
Pleases the understanding, makes the will 
Submit ; the memory too it doth fill 
With what doth our imagination please : 
Likewise it tends our troubles to appease. 

Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use, 
And old wives' fables he is to refuse ; 
But yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid 
The use of parables, in which lay hid 
That gold, those pearls, and precious stones, that wera 
Worth digging for, and that with greatest care. 

Let me add one word more ; O man of God ! 
Art thou offended ' Dost thou wish I had 
Put forth my matter in another dress 1 
Or that I had in things been more express '' 
To those that are my betters, as is fit, 
Three things let me propound, then I submit : 

1. I find not that I am deny'd the use 
Of this my method, so I no abuse 
Put on the words, things, readers, or be rude 
In handling figure or similitude 



I 



THE author's APOlAiGY. SI 

In application ; but all that I may 
Seek the advance of truth, this or that way. 
Denied, did T say 1 Nay, I have leave 
(Examples too, and that from them that have 
God better pleased, by their words or ways, 
Than any man that breath eth now-a-days) 
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare 
Things unto thee that excellentest are. 

2. I find that men (as high as trees) will write 
Dialogue-wise ; yet no man doth them slight 
For writing so : indeed, if they abuse 

Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use 
To that intent ; but yet let truth be free 
To make her sallies upon thee and me, 
Which way it pleases God ; for who knows how, 
Better than he that taught us first to plough, 
To guide our minds and pens for his design ] 
And he makes base things usher in divine. 

3. I find that holy writ, in many places. 

Hath semblance with this method, where the cases 
Do call for one thing to set forth another : 
Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother 
Truth's golden beams : nay, by this method may 
Make it cast forth its rays as light as day. 

And now, before I do put up my pen, 
I'll show the profit of my book, and then 
Commit both me and it unto that hand 
That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand 

This book, it chalketh out before thine eyes 
The Man that seeks the everlasting prize : 
It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes ; 
What he leaves undone ; also what he does ; 
It also shows you how he runs and runs, 
Till he unto the Gate ot Glory comes. 

It shows too who set out for life amain, 
As if the lasting crown they would obtain. 
Here also you may see the reason why 
They lose their labour, and like fools do die, 

This book will make a traveller of thee, 
If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be ; 
It will direct thee to the Holy Land, 
If thou wilt its direction understand ; 
Yea, it will make the slothful active be ; 
The blind also delightful things to see. 

Art thou for something rare and profitable * 
Qs" wouldst thou see a truth within a fable? 



■IHL AUJtliJK\-; APOLuGY. 

Art thou forgetful ] Woiildest thou remember 
From New-year's day lo the last of December ] 
Then read my fancies ; they will stick like burs, 
And may be to the helpless comforters. 

This book is writ in such a dialect 
As may the minds of listless men affect . 
It seems a novelty, and yet contains 
Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains. 

Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy 1 
Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly 1 
Wouldst thou read riddles and their explanation 1 
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation ] 
Dost thou love picking meat 1 Or wouldst thou see 
A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee ] 
Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep ! 
Or wouldst thou m a moment laugh and weep "* 
Wouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm, 
And find thyself again without a charm 1 
Wouldst read thyself, and read thou know'st not what. 
And yet know whether thou art blest or not, 
By reading the same lines 1 then come hither ! 
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together. 

JOHN BUN f Ai^ 




[The Author dreaming.] 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 

IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. 




The Jail. 



S I walked through the wilderness of 
this world, I lighted on 
a certain place where 
was a den, and laid me down in that 
place to sleep ; and, as I slept, I dreamed 
a dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw 
a man clothed with rags, standing in a 
certain place, with his face from his own 
house, a book in his hand, and a great 
burden upon his back.* I looked, and 
sn w him open the book, and read therein, and as he read he Avept 
and trembled : and not being able longer to con- 

, , , . , -, ° , , . His outcry 

tain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, 
" What shall I do !"t 

•Isa. Ixiv. 6. Lukexiv. 33. Psalm xxxviii. 4. Ht-b. ii. 2. Acts xvi 31. t Acts ii. 37 

33 



84 pilgrim's i-KOui{i;s». 

In this plight, therefore, he went home, and reframed himself as 
long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive 
liis distress ; but he could not he silent long, because that his trouble 
increased ; wherefore, at length, he brake his mind to bis wife and 
children, and thus he began to talk to them : " O ! my dear wife," 
said he, "and you the children of my boAvels, I, your dear friend, 
am in myself undone, by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon 
me : moreover, I am for certain informed, that this 

Tins world. ^ . .,1,1 ' 1 r- n , ' 

our city will be burnt with fire from heaven ; in 
which fearful overthrow both myself, with thee my wife, and you 
lie knows -no way my sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin, 
of escape as yet. except (the which yet I see not) some way of es- 
cape may be found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his rela- 
tions were sore amazed ; not for that they believed that what he had 
said to them was true, but because they thought that some phrensy- 
distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing towards 
night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all 
haste they got him to bed ; but the night was as troublesome to him 
as the day : wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and 
tears. So, when the morning was come, they would know how 
he did ; he told them, Worse and worse. He also set to talking 
to them again ; but they began to be hardened. They also thought 
Carnal physic for a to drive away his distemper by harsh and smdy 
sick soul. carriage to him : sometimes they would deride, 

sometimes they would chide, and sometimes they would quite neg- 
lect him ; wherefore he began to retire himself to his chamber to 
pray for and pity them, and also to condole his own misery : he 
would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and 
sometimes praying ; and thus for some days he spent his time. 

Now I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that 
he was (as he was wont) reading in his book, and gfeatly distressed 
m his mind ; and, as he read, he bm'st out as he had done before, 
ciying, " What shall I do to be saved ?''* 

I saw also, that he looked this way and that way, as if he would 
run ; yet he stood still, because (as I perceived) he could not tell 
which way to go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evan- 
gelist coming to him, and asked. Wherefore dost thou cry ? 

He answered. Sir, I perceive, by the book in my hand, that I am 
condemned to die, and after that to come to judgment j and I find 
that I am not willing to do the first, nor able to do the second.f 

Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since this life 

• Acts xvi. 30, fi I . \ Ileb, ix. 27. .lob x. 21, 22. Ezek. xxii. 1-1. 




[Evangelist directs Christian.} 

is attended with so many evils ? The man answered, Because 1 
fear that this burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than 
the graye, and I shall fall into Tophet.* And, sir, if I be not fit 
to go to prison, I am not fit to go to judgment, and from thence to 
execution ; and the thoughts of these things make me cry. 

Then said Evangelist, if this be thy condition, why standest 
thou still ? He answered, Because I know not 
whither to go. Then he gave him a parchment- n^r^sslty of 'flying 
roll, and there was -written within, " Fly from the 
wrath to come !"t 

The man therefore read it, and, looking upon Evangelist very 
carefully, said, Whither must I fly ? Then said Evangelist, point- 
mg with his finger over a very wide field, Do you see yonder wicket 



85 







[Christian running from his wife and children.] 

„, . ,^ ^ate?* The man said, No. Then said the other, 

Clirist, andtheway ^ /. . i- , ^x tt -it 

to him, cannot be Do you see yonder shmmg Jight?t He said, I 
found without the think I do. Then said Evangeiist, Keep that light 
^^'^ in your eye, and go up directly thereto, so shall 

thou see the gate ; at which, when thou knockest, it shall be told 
thee what thou shalt do. 

So I saw in my dream, that the man began to run ; noAV, he had 
not run far from his own door, when his wife and children, per- 
ceiving it, began to cry after him to return ; but the man put his 
fingers in his ears,J and ran on, crying, Life, life, eternal life ! So 
he looked not behind him, but fled towards the middle of the plain. § 
^, ^ ^ ^ The neighbours also came out to see him run, 

They that fly from == , i , i , 

the wrath to come ^^^ 9-s he ran, some mocked, others threatened, 
are a gazing-stock and some Cried after him to return; and, among 
to the world. II ^^^^^ ^-^sl^ ^- j ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ resolved to 

fetch him back by force ; the name of the one was Obstinate, and 
the name of the other Pliable. Now, by this time, the man 

was got a good distance from them; but, how- 
WetiiowWm.^"^" ^^^^' *W were resolved to pursue him, which 

they did, and in a little time they overtook him. 
Then said the man. Neighbours, wherefore are ye come ? Thev 



• Matth. vii. 13. 
§ Gen. xix. 17. 



t Psalra 
? Jer, X 



2 Pet. i. 19. r Luke xjv. 26. 

.86 



said, To persuade you. to go back with us: but he said, that can by 
no means be. You dwell, said he, in the city of Destruction, (the 
place also where I was born :) I see it to be so ; and, dying there, 
sooner, or later, you will sink lower than the grave into a place 
that burns with fire and brimstone. Be content, good neighbours, 
and go along with me. 

What ! said Obstinate, and leave our friends and our comfoits 
behind us ? 

Yes, said Christian, (for that was his name,) because that all 
which you forsake is not to be compared with a little of that that 
1 am seeking to enjoy ;* and if you will go along with me, and 
hold it, you shall fare as I myself; for there, wherel go, is enough 
and to spare.f Come away, and prove my words. 

Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the 
world to find them ? 

Chr. I seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that 
fadeth not away ;X ^^d it is laid up in heaven, and safe there, to 
be bestowed, at the time appointed, on them that diligently seek it. 
Read it so, if you will, in my book. 

Tush ! said Obstinate ; away Avith your book : will you go back 
with us or no ? 

No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my liand to the 
plough. § 

Obst. Come then, neighbour Pliable, let us turn again, and go 
home without him. There is a company of these crazy-headed 
coxcombs that, when they take a fancy by the end, are wiser in 
their own eyes than seven men that can render a reason. 

Then said Pliable. Don't revile ; if what the good Christian says 
i-s true, the things he looks after are better than ours ; my heart 
inclines to go with my neighbour. 

Obst. What ? more fools still ? Be ruled by me, and go back ; 
who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow will lead you? Go 
back, go back, and be wise. 

Ch7\ Nay, but do thou come with thy neighbour. Pliable ; there 
are such things to be had which I spoke of, and ^^ . . ' , ^. 

f . 1 . , ,/> IT Christian and Ob- 

many more glories besides. It you believe not me, stinate pull for Pii- 
read here in this book : and for the truth of what able's soul. 
is expressed therein, behold, all is confirmed by the blood of him 
that made it.|I 
Well, neighbour Obstinate, saith Pliable, I begin to come to 



• 2 Cor. iv. 18. t Luke xv. 17. J 1 Pet. 1. 4. Heb. xi. Ifi 
5 Luke ix. 02. 8 Heb. ix. 17-21. 



88 PILGKIM's PR0GIitJ33. 

a point: I intend to go along with this good man, 

tian. companion, do you know the way to this desired 

place ? 

Chr. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, to 
speed me to a little gate that is before us, where we shall receive 
instructions about the way. 

PH. Come then, good neighbour, let us be gomg. Then they 
went both together. 

Obstinate goes rail- ^.^'^ ^ ^^^^ g° ^^^^ ^o my place, said Obstinate ; 
ing back. I will be no companion of such misled fantastical 

fellows. 
Talk between Now I saw in my dream, that, when Obstinate 

Christian and "was gone back. Christian and Pliable went talking 

^^^ ^" over the plain ; and thus they began their discourse. 

Chr. Come, neighbour Pliable, how do you do ? I am glad you 
are persuaded to go along with me : had even Obstinate himself 
but felt what I ha^e felt of the powers and terrors of what is yet 
unseen, he would not thus lightly have given us the back. 

Pli. Come, neighbour Christian, since there are none but us 
two here, tell me now farther, what the things are, and how to be 
enjoyed, whither we are going? 

God's things un- Chr. I can better conceive of them with my mind, 
speakabie. tij^j^ speak of them with my tongue ; but yet since 

you are desirous to know, I will read of them in my book. 

Pli. And do you think that the words of your book are cer- 
tainly true ? 

Chr. Yes, verily ; for it was made by him that cannot lie. * 

Pli. Well said ; what things are they ? 

Chr. There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and ever- 
lasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit that kingdom for 
ever, f 

Pli. Well said ; and what else ? 

Chr. There are crowns of glory to be given us, and gar- 
ments that Avill make us shine like the sun in the firniament of 
heaven. :j: 

Pli. This is very pleasant ; and what else ? 

Chr. There shall be no more crying nor sorrow; for he that is 
owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes. || 

Pli. And what company shall we have there ? 

Chr. There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims, crea- 

• Titus i. 2. f Isaiah xlv. 17. John x. 27-29. 

? 9Tini. iv. 8 Rev. xxli. 5. Matth, xiii. 43. !! Isa. xv. 8. Rev. vii. 16, 17 and xx\. 4. 



pilgrim's progklss. 89 

tures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them * There also you 
shall meet Tvith thousands and ten thousands that have gone before 
us to that place : none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy ; 
every one walking in the sight of God, and standing in his presence 
with acceptance for ever. In a word, there we shall see the Elders 
with their golden crowns ; there we shall see the holy Virgins 
with their golden harps ; tnere we shaL see men tnat, by the world, 
were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, drowned in the 
seas, for the love they bare to the Lord of the place ; all well, and 
clothed with immortality as with a gamient. f 

Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart ; but 
are these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be sharers 
thereof? 

Chr. The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded that 
in this book ; the substance of which is, if we be truly willing to 
have it, he will bestow it upon us freely.^ 

Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things. 
Come on, let us mend our pace ! 

Chr. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden 
that is on my back. 

Now I saw in my dream, that, just as they had ended this talk, 
they drew nigh to a very miry slough that was in the midst of 
the plain : and they, being heedless, did both fall The slough of Des- 
suddenly into the bog ; the name of the slough was P"""^- 
Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, being griev- 
ously bedaubed with the dirt j and Christian, because of the burden 
that was on his back, began to sink in the mire. 

Then said Pliable, Ah, neighbour Christian, where are you 
now? 

Truly, said Christian, I do not know. 

At this, Pliable began to be offended, and angerly said to his 
fellow. Is this the happiness you have told me all this while of? 
If we have such ill speed at our first setting out, what may we expect 
betwixt this and our journey's end? May I get it is not enough to 
out again with my life, you shall possess the brave be pliable, 
country alone for me ! And with that he gave a desperate struggle 
or two, and got out of the mire on that side of the slough which 
was next to his own house ; so away he went, and Christian saw 
him no more. 

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the slough of Des- 

* Isa. vi. 2. 1 Thess. iv. 17. Rev. v. 11. 

t Rev, iv. 4. and xiv. 1, 5. John xi. 2,5. 2 Cor. v. 2, 3, 5. 

i Isa. Iv. 12. John, vi. 37 and vii. 37 Rev. xxi. 6 and xxii. 17 

8* 




[Help drawing Christian ouL uir.li 



if Despond. 1 



^^ . . pond alone : but still he endeavoured to struggle 

Christian m trou- ^ . . , ,. i i , , c ^ ? 

bie, seeks still to to that Side 01 the slough that Avas larthest irom 
Ret farther from his his own house, and next to the wicket-gate ; the 
°^™ house. which he did, but could not get out because of the 

burden that was upon his back. But I beheld, in my dream, that a 
man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked him, What he~ 
did there? 

Sir, said Christian, I was bid to go this way by a man call- 
ed Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I 
might escape the wrath to come ; and, as I was going thither, I fell 
in here. 

Help. But why did not you look for the steps ? 
Chr. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the 
next way, and fell in. 

T^jen said he, Give me thine hand ! So lie gave him his hand, 
90 



The promises. 



PILGRIM'S rROGREHS 91 

and he drew him out. and set him, upon sound „ . 

, , , ., 1 . ' 1 • * Jic'-P I'rts him out. 

ground, and bid mm go on his way.* 

Then I stepped to him that pbjcked him out, and said. Sir, 
wherefore, since over this place is the way from the city of De- 
struction to yonder gate, is it that this plat is not mended, that poor 
travellers might go thither with more security ? And he said unto 
me. This miry slough is such a place as cannot be mended : it is 
the descent whither the scum and filth that attends 
conviction for sin doth continually run ; and there- sio^gi^ ^DeTpond^ 
fore it is called the slough of Despond ; for still 
as the sinner is awakened about his lost condition, there arise in 
his soul many fears and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, 
which all of them get together, and settle in this place ; and this 
IS the reason of the badness of this ground. 

It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain 
so badrf his labom'ers also have, by the direction of his Majesty's 
surveyors, been for above these sixteen hundred years employed 
about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended : 
yea, and to my knowledge, said he, here have been swallowed up 
at least twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions, of wholesome 
instructions, that have at all seasons been brought from all places 
of the King's dominions, (and they that can tell, say they are the 
best materials to make good ground of the place,) if so be it might 
have been mended ; but it is the slough of Despond still, and so 
will be, when they have done what they can. 

True, there are, by the direction of the Lawgiver, certain good 
and substantial steps placed even through the very ^^ 

. - » 1 . -1 1 !_ 1 • 1 . 1 The promise offer- 

midst of this slough ; but at such time as this place giveness and ac- 
doth much, spew out its filth, as it doth against ceptance to life, by 
change of weather, these steps are hardly seen ; or,- ^^^^i" Chnst. 
if they be, men, through the dizziness of their heads, step beside ; 
and then they are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps 
be there : but the ground is good, when they are once got in at 
the gate. % 
Now I saw in my dream, that, by this time, Pli- 

,1 .1 ^ -L- 1. c< !-• • 1-T- Pliable is \isited by 

able was got home to his house. So his neighbours j^jg neighbours. 
came to visit him ; and some of them called him 
wise man for coming back, and some called him /ooZ for hazarding 
himself with Christian ; others again did mock at his cowardliness, 
saying. Surely, since you began to venture, I would not have been 
so base as to have given out for a few difficulties. So Pliable sat 

* Psiihn xl. 2. t Isaiah, xxxv. 3, 4, H Sam. xii. 23 



92 pilgrim's progress. 

sneaking among them. But at last he got more confidence ; and 
then they all tm'ned their tales, and began to deride poor Christian 
behind his back. And thus much concerning Pliable. 

Now as Christian was walking solitary by himself, he espied onw 

afar off, come crossing over the field to meet him ; 

Worldly Wiseman ^^^ their hap was to meet iust as thev were cros- 

nieets with Chris- . , r> i i mi i , 

tian. smg the way of each Other. The gentleman's name 

that met him was Mr. Worldly Wiseman; he 
dwelt in the town of Carnal Policy, a very great town, and also 
hard by from whence Christian came. This man, then, meeting 
with Christian, and having some inkling of him, for Christian's 
setting forth from the city of Destruction was much noised abroad, 
not only in the town where he dwelt, but also it began to be the 
town-talk in some other places ; Mr. Worldly Wiseman, therefore, 
having some guess of him, by beholding his laborious going, by 
observing his sighs and groans, and the like, began thus to enter 
into some talk with Christian. 

Wor. How now, good fellow ; whither away after this burdened 
manner ? 

Talk between Mr. Chr. A burdened manner indeed, as ever, I think, 
Worldly Wiseman poor creature had ! And whereas you ask me, 
and Christian. Whither away ? I tell you, sir, I am going to 
yonder wicket-gate before me ; for there, as I am informed, I shall 
be put in a way to be rid of my heavy burden 

Wo7\ Hast thou a wife and children ? 

Chr. Yes ; but I am so laden with this burden, that I cannot take 
that pleasure in them as formerly ; methinks I am as if I had none.* 

Wor. Wilt thou hearken to me, if I give thee counsel ? 

Chr. If it be good, I will ; for I stand in need of good counsel. 

Wor. I would advise thee, then, that with all speed get thyself 
Worldly Wise- I'id of thy burden ; for thou wilt never be settled in 
man's counsel to thy mind till then ; nor canst thou enjoy the ben- 
Christian. ^g^^ ^^ ^j^^ blessings which God hath bestowed upon 

thee till then. 

Chr. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of this heavy 
burden ; but get it off myself I cannot ; nor is there any man in our 
country that can take it off my shoulders ; therefore am I going this 
way, as I told you, that I may be rid of my burden. 

Wor. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy burden ? 

Chr. A man that appeared to me to be a very great and hon 
ourable person ; his name, as I remember, is Evangelist. 

Wor. Beshrew him for his counsel ! there is not a more danger 



Pii.ciHLM's pkOc;Ri:s.s. 98 

ous and troublesome way in the world than is that „ ,,, ,^, „,. 

, • 1 1 . , 1. " -.1 11-, Mr. Worlcily WiS3 

into which he hath directed thee; and that thou man conciemneai 
shalt find, if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou Evangelist's coun- 
hast met with something, as I perceive, already ; ^^^' 
for I see the dirt of the slough of Despond is upon thee ; but that 
slough is the beginning of the sorrows that do attend those that 
go on in that Avay. Hear me, I am older than thou ; thou art like 
to meet with, in the way which thou goest, wearisomeness, painful- 
ness, hunger, perils, nakedness, swords, lions, dragons, darkness, 
and, in a word, death, and what not. These things are certainly 
true, having been confirmed by many testimonies. And should a 
man so carelessly cast away himself, by giving heed to a stranger ? 

Chr. Why, sir, this burden upon my back is ^,^ ^ 
more terrible to me than are all these things which heart of a young 
you have mentioned; nay, methinks I care not Christian. 
what I meet w^ith in the w^ay, if so be I can also meet with deliv- 
erance from my burden. 

Wor. How camest thou by the burden at first ? 

Chr. By reading this book in my hand. 

Woi\ I thought so ; and it is happened unto thee 
as to other weak men, who, meddling with things j^^t mershTuid'be 
too high for them, do suddenly fall into thy dis- serious in reading 
traction; which distractions do not only unman the Bible. 
men, (as thine I perceive have done thee,) but they run them upon 
desperate adventures, to obtain they know not what. 

Chr. I know what I would obtain ; it is ease for my heavy burden. 

Wor. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, seeing so many 
dangers attend it, especially since (hadst thou but patience to hear 
me) I could direct thee to the obtaining of what thou desirest, 
without the dangers that thou, in this way, wilt run thyself into ; 
yea, and the remedy is at hand. Besides, I will add, that, instead 
of these dangers, thou shalt meet with much safety, friendship, and 
content. 

Chr. Sir, I pray open this secret to me. 

Wor. Why, in yonder village, (the village is named Morality,) 
there dwells agentleman,whosenameisLegality, a very judicious 
man, and a man of a very good name, that has skill to help men 
off with such burdens as thine is from their shoulders; yea, to my 
knowledge, he hath done a great deal of good this He prefers Moraii- 
w^ay. Ay, and besides, he hath skill to cure those ty before the strait 
that are somewhat crazed in their wits with their ^^^®* 
burdens. To him, as I said, thou mayst go and be helped pres- 
ently. His house is not quite a mile from this place : and if he 



PILliHlMS I'l 



should not happen tu be at home himself, he hath a pretty young 
man to his son, Avhose name is Civility, that can do it (to speak 
on) as well as the old gentleman himself. There, I say, thou 
mayst be eased of thy burden ; and if thou art not minded to go 
back to thy former habitation, as indeed I would not wish thee, thou 
mayst send for thy wife and children to thee to this village, where 
there are houses now stand empty, one of which thou mayst have 
at a reasonable rate : provision is there also cheap and good ; and 
that which will make thy life the more happy is, to be sure, there 
thou shalt live by honest neighbours, in credit and good fashion. 
Christian snared Now was Christian somewhat at a stand ; but 
by Mr. Worldly presently he concluded, if this be true which this 
Wiseman's words, gentleman hath said, my wisest course is to take 
his advice ; and with that he thus farther spake. 

Chr. Sir, Avhich is my way to this honest man's house? 

Wor. Do you see yonder high hill ? 

Chr. Yes, very well. 

^ . Wor. By that hill you must go: and the first 

Mount Sinai. , ^ . i . 

house you come at is his. 
So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality's house 
for help ; but behold, when he was got now hard by the hill, it 
„^ . . ^ .^ seemed so high, and also that side of it that was 

Christian afraid -i ti i i 

that Mount Sinai ^^^xt the wayside did hang so much over, that 
would fall on his Christian was afraid to venture further, lest the 
*^^^^' hill should fall on his head : wherefore there he 

stood still, and wotted not what to do. Also his burden now 
seemed heavier to him than while he was in his way. There 
came also flashes of fire out of the hill, that made Christian afraid 
that he should be burnt ; * here, therefore, he did sweat and quake 
for fear. And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. 
Worldly Wiseman's counsel; and with that he saw Evangelist 
coming to meet him; at the sight also of whom he began to blush 
for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer and nearer, and, coming 
Evangelist findeth tip to him, he looked upon him with a severe and 
Christian under dreadful countenance ; and thus began to reason 
Mount Sinai ^^-^j^ Christian. 

What dost thou here, Christian ? said he : at which words, 
Evan-reiiit reasons Christian knew not what to answer. Wherefore 
afi-esh with Chris- at present he stood speechless-before him. Then 
''^"- said Evangelist farther, Art not thou the man that 

I found crying without the walls of the city of Destruction ? 

Chr. Yes, dear sir, I am the man. 

• Exod. xix. 16, 18. Ileb. xii 21 



FILGHIM S PKUUUK.SS. 96 

Evan. Did uot I direct thee the way to the little wicket-gale? 

Yes, dear sir, said Christian. 

Evan, How is it, then, that thou art so quickly turned aside, for 
tnou art now out of the way ? 

Chr. I met with a gentleman so soon as I had got over the 
slough of Despond, who persuaded me that I might, in the village 
before me, find a man that could take off my burden. 

Evan. What was he ? 

Chr. He looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me, and 
got me at last to yield ; so I came hither : but when I beheld this 
hill, and how it hangs over the way, I suddenly made a stand, lest 
it should fall on my head. 

Evan. What said that gentleman to you ? 

Chr. Why he asked me whither I was going ? and I told him. 

Evan. And what said he then? 

Chr. He asked me if I had a family ? and I told him: but said 
I. I am so loaden with the burden that is on my back, that I can 
not take pleasure in them as formerly. 

Evan. And what said he then ? 

Chr. He bid me with speed get rid of my bm-den ; and I told 
hhn, it was ease that I sought ; and, said I, I am therefore going 
to yonder gate to receive farther direction how I may get to the 
place of deliverance. So he said that he would show me a better 
way, and short, not so attended with difficulties as the way, sir, 
that you set me in ; which way, said he, will direct you to a gen- 
tleman's house that hath skill to take off these burdens : so 1 
believed him, and turned out of that way into this, if haply I might 
be soon eased of my burden. But when I came to this place, and 
beheld things as they are, I stopped for fear (as I said) of danger ; 
but I now know not what to do. 

Then said Evangelist, stand still a little, that I may show thee 
the words of God. So he stood trembling. Then Evangelist convin- 
said Evangelist, " See that ye refuse not him that ces him of his 
speaketh ; for if they escaped not Avho refused him ^^'^°'^' 
that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn 
away from him that speaketh from heaven."* He said, moreover, 
" Now, the just shall live by faith ; but if any man draw back, my 
soul shall have no pleasure in him."t He also did thus apply them : 
Thou art the man that art running into misery ; thou hast begun 
to reject the counsel of the Most High, and to draw back thy foot 
from the way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of thy perdition. 

Then Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crying, Wo is me, 

•Heb. xii. 25. tHeb. x.38. 



lur I am undone ! Ai the sight of which Evangelist caught him 
by t lie right handj saying, "All manner of sin and blasphemies 
shall be forgiven unto men."* " Be not faithless, but believing."t 
Then did Christian again a little revive, and stood up trembling, 
as at first, before Evangelist. 

Then Evangelist proceeded, saying. Give more earnest heed to 
the things that I shall tell thee of. I w^ill now show thee who it 
was that deluded thee, and who it was also to whom he sent thee. 
That man that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is 
»r rxr ,j, ttt- ^^ §0 callcd i partly because he savoureth onlv of 

Mr. Worldly Wise- . , . ^, , r i , , , ^ , , 

man described by the doctrme ol this world, (therefore he always 
Evangelist. goes to the town of Morality to church,) and partly 

because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him best from 
the Cross ; and because he is of this carnal temper, therefore he 
seeketh to pervert my ways, though right. Now, there are three 
things in this man's counsel that thou must utterly abhor: — 

1. His turning thee out of the way. 

2. His labouring to render the Cross odious to thee. 

3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth unto the 
administration of death. 

First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way, yea, 
and thine own consenting thereto ; because this is to reject the 
counsel of God, for the sake of the counsel of a Worldly Wiseman. 
The Lord says, " Strive to enter in at the Strait Gate,"J the Gate 
to which I send thee ; " For strait is the Gate that leadeth unto 
life, and few there be that find it."§ From this little Wicket-Gate, 
and from the way thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to 
the bringing of thee almost to destruction ; hate, therefore, his 
turning thee out of the way, and abhor thvself for hearkening to 
him. 

Secondly, Thou must abhor his labouring to render the Cross 
odious unto thee ; for thou art to "prefer it before the treasures of 
Egypt."|| Besides, the King of Glory hath told thee, that "he 
that will save his life shall lose it."T[ And he that comes after 
him, "and hates not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, 
and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be 
my disciple."** I say, therefore, for man to labour to persuade thee, 
that that shall be thy death, without which, the Truth hath said, 
thou canst not have eternal life, this doctrme thou must abhor. 

Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the way that 
leadeth to the ministration of death. And for this thou must con- 

* Matth. xii. 31. 1 John xx. 27. t Luke xiii. 24. § Matth. vii. 14. 
Heb. xi. 25, 26. H Mark viii. 38. John xii. 25. Matth. x. 39. ** Luke xiv. 26. 



riLUUIM'a PU0GRE3S. 97 

sider lo whom he sent thee, and also how unable that person was 
to deliver thee from thy burden. 

He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name Legality,* 
IS the son of that Bondwoman, which now is, and is in bondage 
with her children, and is in a mystery this mount Sinai, which 
tliou hast feared, will fall on thy head. Now, if she with her 
children are in bondage, kow canst thou expect by them to be made 
free ? This Legality, therefore, is not able to set thee free from 
thy burden. No man was as yet ever rid of his burden by him ; 
no, nor ever is like to be : ye cannot "be justitied by the works of 
the law;" for by the deeds of the law no man living can be rid 
of his burden : therefore Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an alien, and 
Mr. Legality is a cheat : and for his son Civility, nothwithstand- 
ing his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite, and cannot help thee. 
Believe me, there is nothing in all this noise that thou hast heard 
of these sottish men, but a design to beguile thee of thy salvation, 
by turning thee from the way in which I had set thee. After thi;^, 
Evangelist called alGU.d to the Heavens for confirmation of w^hai 
he had said ; and with that there came words and fire out of the 
mountain under which poor Christian stood, which made the hair 
of his flesh stand up. The words were thus pronounced : " As 
many as are of the w^orks of the law are under the curse : for it is 
written, Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which 
are written in the book of the law, to do them."t 

Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began to cry 
out lamentably, even cursing the time in which he met with Mr. 
Worldly Wiseman, still calling himself a thousand fools for heark- 
ening to his counsel : he also was greatly ashamed to think that 
this gentleman's arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should 
have the prevalency with him so far as to cause him to forsake the 
right way. This done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in 
words and sense as follows : — 

Chr. Sir, what think you ? is there any hope ? ^, 

_ ^ _ ' 111 1 ^^tr• t Clinstian inquires 

May I now go back, and go up to the W icket- jf j^^ j.^^^ y^t 1,^ 
Oate ? Shall I not be abandoned for this, and sent iiappy. 
back from thence ashamed ? I am sorry I have hearkened to this 
man's counsel : but may my sin be forgiven 7 

Then said Evangelist to him. Thy sin is very great, for by it 
thou hast committed two evils : thou hast forsaken the way that is 
good, to tread in forbidden paths ; yet will the 
Man at the Gate receive thee, for he has good-will foltriiira. ^^^ 
for men ; only, said he, take heed that thou turn 

•Gal. iv. 21,27. t G^il. iii. 10. 
9 



.wlc^''""^" 




[Christian at the Wicket-gatcl 

not aside again, " lest thou perish from the way, when his wnilh 
IS kindled but a little."* Then did Christian address himself to 
go back ; and Evangejist, after he had kissed him, gave him one 
smile, and bid him God speed. So he w^ent on with haste, neither 
spake he to any man by the way ; nor, if any asked him, would he 
vouchsafe them an answer. He went like one that was all the 
while treading on forbidden ground ; and could by no means think 
himself safe, till again he was got mto the way which he had left 
to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman's counsel. So, m process of time, 
Christian got up to the Gate. Now^, over the Gate there was 
written, " Knock, and it shall be opened unto you."t He knocked, 
therefore, more than once or twice, saying. 

May I now enter here? Will he within 
Opori to sorry me, lliou;,Mi I have been 
• Psahi. i!. 12 1 Matt!., vij. a 



pilgrim's PRUGREJsS. 93 

An undeserving rebel 1 Then shall I 
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on higii. 

At last there came a grave person to the Gate, named Good-Avill, 
uiio asked, Who was there ? and whence he came ? and what he 
would have ? 

Chr Here is a poor bm*dened smnei , 1 come from the city of 
Destruction, but am going to mount Zion, that I may be delivered 
from the wrath to come : I would therefore, sir, since I am in- 
formed that by this gate is the way thither, know if you are willing 
to let me in. 

I am willing with all my heart, said he : and ^^'"' -f r;'^] ''^ 

'^ -, , ^ opened to broken 

With that he opened the Gate. hearted sinners. 

So when Christian was stepping m, the other 
gave him a pull : then said Christian, What means that ? The 
other told him, a little distance from this Gate there is erected a 
strong Castle, of which Beelzebub is the captain : g^^^^^ ^^^^5^^ ^j^^.^^ 
from thence both he and them that are with him that enter the strait 
shoot arrows at those that come up to this Gate, s^^®- 
if haply they may die before they can enter in. 

Then said Christian, I rejoice and tremble. So, ^ 

, , • 1 ■««- 1 ^ 1 ■, Christian entered 

when he Avas got in, the Man at the Gate asked ti^e gate with joy 
him. Who directed him thither ? and trembling. 

Chr. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock ^aik between 
(as I did :) and he said that you, sir, would tell Goodwin and 
me what 1 must do. Christian. 

Good. An open Door is set before thee, and no man can shut 1 

Chr. Now I begin to reap the benefit of my hazards. 

Good. But how is it that you came alone ? 

Chr. Because none of my neighbours saw their danger, as T saw 
mine. 

Good. Did any of them know of your coming ? 

C7ir. Yes, my wife and children saw me at the first, and called 
after me to turn again ; also some of my neighbours stood crying 
and calling 'after me to return ; but I put my fingers in my ears, 
and so came on my way. 

Good. But did none of them follow you to persuade you to .go 
back. 

Chr. Yes ; boln Obstinate and Pliable. But when they saw 
that they could not prevail. Obstinate went railing back, but Pliable 
came with me a little way. 

Good. But why did he not come through ? 

Chr. We indeed came both together until Ave came to the slouch 



100 riLGRLM'ri PROGUtS.^. 

of Despond, into the which we also suddenly fell ; and then Avas 
mv nei;?hbour Pliable discouraj^ed, and would not 

A man may have ,■' r ^ ttt. p L- 

company when he adventure farther. Whereiore, getting out again, 
sets out for heaven on the side next to his own house, he told me I 
and yet go ihiiiier g^ould possess the brave Country alone for him ; 

alone. i i • it • ^ i\ 

SO he Avent his way, and I came mine ; he atier 
Obstinate, and I to this Gate. 

Then said Good-will, Alas ! poor man : is the celestial glory 
of so little esteem with him, that he counteth it not worth running 
the hazard of a few difficulties to obtain it ? 

Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of Pliable ; and if I 
Christian accuseth should also say the truth of myself, it will appear 
himself before the there is no betterment 'twixt him and myself. 'Tis 
man at the gate. true, he Went back to his own house; but I also 
turned aside to go into the Way of Death, being persuaded thereto 
by the carnal argument of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman. 

Good. Oh, did he light upon you ? what, he would have had 
you seek for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality ? they are both of 
them a very cheat. But did you take his counsel ? 

Chr. Yes, as far as I durst. I went to find out Mr. Legality, 
until I thought that the Mountain that stands by his house would 
have fallen upon my head j wherefore there I was forced to 
stop. 

Good. That Mountain has been the death of many, and will be 
the death of many more ; 'tis well you escaped being by it dashed 
in pieces. 

Chr. Why, truly, I do not know what had become of me there, 
had not Evangelist happily met me again, as 1 was musing in the 
midst of my dumps ; but 'twas God's mercy that he came to me 
again, for else I had never come hither. But now I am come, such 
a one as I am, more fit indeed for death by that Mountain, than 
thus to stand talking with my Lord; but oh ! what a favour is this 
to me, that yet I am admitted entrance here ! 

Good. We make no objections against any, notAvithstanding all 

that they have done before they come hither, they " in nowise are 

cast out ;"* and therefore, good Christian, come a 

Christian is com- ,. , . , , t -n 11 \ 1 

forted a-rain and ^^^^1^ ^^Y With me, and I Will teach thee about the 
directed yet on his way thou iTiust go. Look before thee, dost thou 
^^^y- see this narroAV way 1 THAT is the way thou 

must go. It was cast up by the Patriarchs, Prophets, Christ, and 
his Apostles ; and it is as straight as a rule can make it ; this is the 
Way thou must go 

• Jolni vi. 37. 



imlgrim's prochrsh. 10 1 

But, said Christian, are there no turnings nor ciui.stian afraid of 
windings, by which a stranger may lose his way ? l^^^^^^^'s way. 

Good, Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this ; and they 
are crooked and wide : but thus thou mayest distinguish the right 
from the wrong : the right only being strait and narrow.* 

Then I saw, in my dream, that Christian asked 
him further, if he could not help him off with his hisTm^en.^^ ^'^ 
burden that was upon his back ; for as yet he had 
not got rid thereof, nor could he by any means get it off without help. 

He told him, As to thy burden, be content to There is no deiiv 
bear it, imtil thou comest to the place of deliv- erance from the 
orance; for there it will fall from thy back of it- sinbatbythedeatu 

self. and blood of Christ 

Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address him- 
self to his journey. So the other told him that, by that he was 
gone some distance from the Gate, he would come at the house of 
the Interpreter, at whose door he should knock, and he should 
show him excellent things. Then Christian took nis leave of his 
friend, and he again bid him God speed. 

Then he went on till he came at the house of christian comes to 
the Interpreter, where he knocked over and over ; the house of the 
at last one came to the door, and asked, Who was i"*^^^^^^^'^' 
there ? 

Chr. Sir, here is a traveller, who was bid by an acquaintance 
of the good Man of this House, to call here for my profit ; I would 
therefore speak with the Master of- the house. So he called for 
the Master of the house, who, after a little time, came to Christian 
and asked him, What he would have ? 

Sir, said Christian, I am a man that am come from the city of 
Destruction, and am going to mount Zion ; and I Avas told by the 
Man that stands at the Gate, at the head of this way, that if I called 
here, you would show me excellent things, such as would be helpful 
to me on my journey. 

Then said the Interpreter, Come in ; I will show thee that which 
will be profitable to thee. So he commanded his 
man to light the Candle, and bid Christian follow '^'"^ °^' 
liim so he had him into a private room, and bid his Man open a 
door ; the which when he had done. Christian saw christian sees a 
the picture of a very grave Person hang up against gi^ave picture. 
the wall; and this was the fashion of it; it had eyes lifted up to 
Heaven, the best of Books in his hand, the Law of The fashion of the 
Truth was Avritten upon his lips, the World was picture. 

* Matth vii. 14. 
9* 



l();i PILGRIM S PROGRKS55. 

behind his back; it stood as if it pleaded with Men, and a Crown 
of ^'old did hang over his head. 

Then said Christian, What meaneth this ? 

hit. The Man whose picture this is, is one of a thousand : he can 
beget children, travail in birth with children, and nurse them him- 
The meaning of self when they are born. * And whereas thou seest 
the picture. iiim with his eyes lift up to Heaven, the best of 

Books in his hand, and the Law of Truth writ on his lips, it is to 
show thee, that his work is to know and unfold dark things to sin- 
ners; even as also thou seest him stand as if he pleaded with men. 
And whereas thou seest the World as cast behind him, and that a 
Crown hangs over his head, that is to show thee, that, slighting 
and despising the things that are present, for the love that he hath 
to his Master's service, he is sure, in the world that comes next, 
to have glory for his reward. Now, said the Interpreter, I have 
Why he showed showed thee this picture first, because the Man 
iiim this picture whose picture this is, is the only Man whom the 
^'^^^' Lord of the place, whither thou art going, hath au- 

thorized to be thy guide in all difficult places thou may st meet with 
in the way : wherefore, take good heed to what I have showed thee, 
and bear well in thy mind what thou hast seen, lest, in thy journey, 
thou meet with some that pretend to lead thee right ; but their way 
goes down to Death. 

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a very large 
parlour that was full of dust, because never swept: the Avhich after 
he had reviewed a little while, the Interpreter called for a man to 
sweep. Now, when he began to sweep, the dust began so abun- 
dantly to fly about, that Christian had almost therewith been 
choked. Then said the Interpreter to a damsel that stood by, 
Bring hither water, and sprinkle the room: the which when she 
had done, it was swept and cleansed with pleasure. 

Then said Christian, What means this? 

The Interpreter answered. This parlour is the heart of a man 
that was never sanctified by the sweet grace of the Gospel: the 
dust is his original sin, and inward corruptions, that have defiled 
the whole man. He that began to sweep at first is the Law ; but 
she that brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel. Now, 
whereas thou sawest, that as soon as the first began to sweep, the 
dust did so fly about, that the room could not by him be cleansed, 
but that thou wast almost choked therewith; this is to show thee, 
tliat the law, mstead of cleansing the heart (by its working) from 
sin, doth revive, pui strength into, and increase it in the soul, even 

• (^or. iv. 5. Oal. iv. 19 



l'U.(;>il.M S i'HoUHESS. nil 

as it doth discover and forbid it; for it dutii not give power u> 
subdue.* 

Again, as thou saw-est the damsel sprinkle the room with water, 
upon which it Avas cleansed with pleasure, this is to show thee, 
that when the gospel comes in the sweet and precious influence 
thereof to the heart, then I say, even as thou sawest the damsel 
lay the dust, by sprinkling the floor Avitli water, »o is sin vanquished 
and subdued, and the soul made clean, through the faith of it, and 
consequently fit for the King of Glory to inhabit, t 

I saw, moreover, in my dream, that the Inter- He showed hiui 
preter took him by the hand, and had him into a Passion and Pa 
little room, where sat two little children, each one t'<^"^«- 
in his chair. The name of the eldest was Passion, and the name 
of the other Patience. PassioE seemed to be much discontented, 
but Patience was very quiet Then Christian ask- Passion will have 
ed, What is the reason of the discontent of Pas- it"<>w. 
sion? The Interpreter answered. The governor of them would 
have him stay for his best things till the beginning patience is for 
of next year but he will have all now; but Pa- ^^'aifi"g- 
t'ience is willing to wait. 

Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought „ . ^., .. 

. ' --■ . Passion hath his 

iiim a bag of treasure, and poured it down at his d-osire, andqtiickJy 
feet; the which he took up^ and rejoiceil therein, lavishes ail away. 
and withal laughed Patience to scorn: but I beheld but awhile, 
and he had lavished all away, and had nothing left him but rags. 

Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound this matter 
more fully to me. 

So he said, These two lads are figures ; Passion, of the men of 
this world, and Patience, of the men of that vdiich is to come: for. 
SIS here thou seest, Passion Vv^ill have all now, this year, that is to 
say, in this world ; so are the men of this woxld ; they must have 
all their good things now ; they cannot stay till the next year, that 
is, until the next world, for their portion of good. 
Tnat proverb, "A bird in the hand is worth two in ^^^ J^'^^^^j^^'IJ" 
the bush," is of more authority with them, than are ]^^^^^ 
all the divine testimonies of the good of the world 
to come. But as thou sawest that he had quickly lavished all 
away, and had presently left him nothing but rags, so will it be 
with all such men at the end of. this world. 

Then said Christian. Now I see that Patience patience had the 
lias the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts, best wisdom. 

* Rom. vii 6. 1 Cor. xv. 56 Rom. v. 2(3. 

t John XV. 3. Eplu v. 2(3. Acri= xv. 9. Rom. x\i.'2v>. 2fi. John xv, 13. 



1, Because he stays for the best things. 2. And also because he 
will have the glory of his, when the other has nothing but rags. 
Jut. Nay, you may add another, to wit, The glory of the nexi 
world will never wear out : but these are suddenly gone. There- 
fore Passion had not so much reason to laugh at Patience, because 
he had his good things first, as Patience will have 

I hmgs that are , , V, . 7 t » ^ i • t i • 

iirst imist give to laugh at Passion, because he had his best tilings 
place, but things last ; for first inust give place to last, because last 
Mat die ast are j^^g^ have his time to come ; but last gives plaCv:? 

lasting, _ ' or 

to nothing, for there is not another to sa-ceeetl. 
He, therefore, that hath his portion first must needs have a time Uf 
spend it ; but he that hath his portion last must have it lastingly : 
therefore it is said of Dives, ''In thy lifetime tho:i} 
i)»in<Tt? first. " * receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus 
evil things^ but now he is comforted, and thou art 
tormented.''* 

C/ir. Then I perceive ^tis not best to covet things that are now, 
but to wait for things to come. 

ini. Yon say truth : " For the things that are 
arri)ui\euip'oraL ^^^" ^^^ temporal ; but the things that are not seen 
are eternaL"t But thoogh this be so, yet since 
things present, and our fleshly appetite, are such near neighbours- 
one to another, and again, because things to come, and carnal 
sense, are such strangers one to another, therefore it is that the first 
of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that distance is so con- 
tinued betAveen the second^ 

Then I saw in my dream, that the Interpreter took Christian by 
the hand, and led him into a place where was a fire burning against 
a wally and one standing by it, always casting much water upon is 
?o quench it ; yet did the fire burn higher and hotter. 

Then said Christian, What means this 7 

The Interpreter answered. This fire is the work o-f grace that is 
wrought in the heart , he that caists water upon it, to extinguish 
and put it out, is the Devil ; but in that thou seest the fire, not- 
withstanding, bum higher and hotter, thou shalt also see thereason 
of that. So he bad him about to the back side of the wall, \vhere 
ne saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, of the which fie did 
also continually cast, but secretly, into the fire. 

Then said Christian, What means this? 

The Interpreter answered. This is Christ, who continually, with 
the oil of his grace, maintains the work already begun in the heart 
by the means of w^hich, notwithstanding what the Devil can do 

* Luke xvi. t 2 Cor. iv. liS. t Rom. vii. 18. 




[Interpreter showing Christian tiie fire of grace.] 

the souls of his people prove gracious still. And in that thou 
sawest that the man stood behind the wall to maintain the fire, this 
ss to teach thee, that it is hard for the tempted to see how this 
work of grace is maintained in the souL* 

I saw also that the Interpreter took him again by tne hand, and 
led him into a pleasant place, where was built a stately palace, 
beautiful to behold ; at the sight of which Christian was greatly 
delighted ; he saw also, upon the top thereof, certain persons walk- 
ing, who were clothed all in gold. 

Then said Christian, May we go in thither ? 

Then the Interpreter took him, and led him up toward the door 
of the palace ; and behold, at the door, stood a great company of 
men, as desirous to go in, but durst not. There also sat a man at . 
a little distance from the door, at a table-side, with a book and his 
ink-horn before him, to take the names of them that should enter 
therein : he saw also, that in the doorway stood many men in 
armour to keep it, being resolved to do to the men that would enter 
what hurt and mischief they could. Now was Christian some- 
what in amaze : at last, when every man started back for fear of 
ihe armed men. Christian saw a man of a very 
stout countenance come up to the man that sat 

• 2 Cor. xii. 9. 

105 



The valiant man. 



Km t'i;.!;Ki.Ai .-- i'iii,ic;ui;ss. 

nere to write, saying, Set down my name, sir ; the which when he 
had done, he saw the man draw his sword, and put a helmet upon 
his head, and rush toward the door upon the armed men, who laid 
upon him with deadly force ; but the man, not at all discouraged, 
fell to cutting and hacking most fiercely. So, after he had received, 
and given many wounds to those that attempted to keep him out, 
he cut his way through them all, and pressed forward into the 
palace ; at which there was a pleasant voice heard from those that 
were Avithin, even to those that walked upon the top of the palace, 
saying, 

Come in, come in : 

Eternal glory thou shall win.* ' 

So he went in, and was clothed with such garments as they. 
Then Christian smiled, and said, I think verily I know the mean- 
ing of this. 

Now said Christian, let me go hence. Nay, stay, said the Inter- 
preter, till I have showed thee a little more, and, 

Despair like an ^^^^^^ jj^^. ^-^^^ ^j^^j^ ^^ ^^ ^ g^ j^^ ^ ^ 

iron cage. ' ^^i j j 

him by the hand again, and led him into a very 
dark room, where there sat a man in an iron cage. 

Now, the man, to look on, seemed very sad : he sat with his 
eyes looking down to the ground, his hands folded together, and 
he sighed as if he would break his heart. Then said Christian. 
What means this 1 At which the Interpreter bid him talk with 
the man. 

Then said Christian to the Man, What art thou ? the man an- 
swered, I am what I was not once. 

Chr. What wast thou once ? 

The man said, I was once a fair and flourishing professor, botJi 
m mine own eyes, and also in the eyes of others. I- was once, as 
I thought, fair for the celestial city, and had even joy at the 
thoughts that I should get thither.f 

Chr. Well, but what art thou now ? 

Man. I am now a man of Despair, and am shut up in it, as m 
this iron cage. I cannot get out ; O ! noio I cannot. 

Chr. But how camest thou into this condition ? 

Man. I left off *to watch and be sober ; I laid the reins upon tlie 
neck of my lusts ; I sinned against the light of the word, and the 
goodness of God ; I have grieved the Spirit, and he is gone ; I 
tempted the Devil, and he is come to me ; I have provoked God to 
anger, and he lias left me ; I have so hardened my heart that I 
cannot repent. 

* Act? xiv. 02. \ I,Mkp viii. IS. 



I'HuCiKLS:^. 



107 



Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But are there no hopes 
for such a man as this ? Ask him, said the Interpreter. 

Then said Christian, Is there no hope, but you must be kept in 
the Iron cage of Despair ? 

Man. No, none at all. 

Chr. Why, the Sun of the blessed ]s very pitiful. 

Man. I have crucified him to myself afresh ; I have despised his 
person ; I have despised his righteousness ; I have counted his 
blood an unholy thing ; I have done despite to the Spirit of Grace ; 
therefore I shut myself out of all the promises ; and there now 
remains to me nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatenings, 
faithful threatenings, of certain judgment and fiery indignatiorc. 
which shall devour me as an adversary,* 

Chr. For what did you bring yourself into this condition ? 

Man. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this world ; in the 
^^njoyment of which I did then promise myself much delight ; but 
now every one of those things also bite me, and gnaw me like a 
burning worm. 

Chr. But canst thou not now repent and turn ? 

Man. God hath denied me repentance. His word gives me no 
encouragement to believe ; yea, himself hath shut me up in this 
iron cage, nor can all the men in the world let me out ! O Eter- 
nity ! Eternity ! How shall I grapple with the misery that I must 
meet with in eternity ! 

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this man's misery be 
remembered by thee, and be an everlasting caution to thee. 

Well, said Christian, this is fearful ! God help me to watch 
and be sober, and to pray that I may shun the cause of this man's 
misery. Sir, is it not time for me to go on my way now ? 

Int. Tarry till I shall show thee one thing more, and then thou 
shall go on thy way. 

So he took Christian by the hand again, and led him into a 
chamber, where there was one rising out of bed ; and, as he put 
on his raiment, he shook and trembled. Then said Christian, Why 
doth this man thus tremble ? The Interpreter then bid him tell to 
Christian the reason of his so doing. So he began and said, This 
night as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold the heavens 
grew exceeding black ; also it thundered and lightened in most 
fearful wise, that it put me into an agony. So I looked up in my 
dream, and saw the clouds rack at an unusual rate ; upon which I 
heard a great sound of a trumpet, and saw also a Man sitting upon 
a cloud, attended with the thousands of heaven. They were all 

• Heb. vi. 6. Luke xix. 14. Heb. x. 23. 29. 



iOS i'ii.«;ta.\rs PK(i(fJKr;ss, 

in flarnmg fire ; also the heavens were on a burning flame. 1 hearil 
then a great vaiee, saying, " Arise, ye dead, and come to judg- 
ment !" and with that the rocks rent, the graves opened, and the 
dead that were therein came forth : some of them were exceeding 
glad, and looked upward ; and soroe sought to bide themselves . 
under the mountains. Then I saw the Man that sat lEpon the cloud 
open the Book, and bid the World draw near ; yet there was, by 
reason of a fierce flame which issued out, and came before him, a 
convenient distance betwixt him and them, as betwixt the judge- 
and the prisoners at the bar. I heard it also proclaimed to then:s 
that attended on the Man that sat on the Cloud, " Gather together 
the tares, the chaff^ and stahble, and cast them into the burning 
bke ;" and with that the bottomless pft opened, jjjst whereabout 
I stood ; oat of the mouth of which tfiere came, in an abundant 
manner, smoke and coals of fire, with hideous noises. It was also 
said to the same persons, "Gather my wheat into the garner.'^ 
And with that I saw many catched wp, and carried away into the 
clouds ; but'I was left behind. I also sought to hide myself, but 
I cotild not ; for the Man that sat i?poR the cloud still kept his eye 
upon me. My sins also came into my mind, and my conscience 
did accuse me on every side. Upon this I awakened fitxm my 
sleep* 

Chr. But what was it that made yon so afraid of this sight ? 

Man. Why, I thought that the Day of Judgment was come, anc? 
that I was not ready for it. But this frighted me most, that the 
Angels gathered up several, and left mfe behind ; also the Pit of 
Hell opened her mouth just where I stood. My conscience, too., 
afflicted me ; and, 'as I thought, the Judge had always his eye upon 
me, showing indignation in his countenance. 

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, hast tho\T considered all 
these things ? 

Ckr. Yes ; and they put me in hope and fear. 

Int. Well, keep all things so in thy mind, that they may be as 
a goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in the way thou must 
go. Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address 
himself to his journey. Then said the Interpreter, The Comforter 
f)e always with thee, good Christian, to guide thee in the way that 
leads to tlic city ! So Christian went on his way, saying : — 

Hf^ro liavc I sepn Iliings rare anc? profitable, 
Tilings pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable 

• 1 Cor. XV. 1 Tlie.s.s. iv. .Jude ver. 1.5. .Tohn v. 28. 2 The-ss. i. ?. Rev. xx. 11-14. 
I>aiah xxvi. 21. Mi.^ah vii. 16, 17. Psalm v. -1. 5. Mai. iii 2, 3. Ilan. vii. 9, 10. Mark 
;ii. i:i chap, xiv. 32. Mai. iv. 1. I.nkr iii. 1". I T1h>ss. iv. ItJ. 17. Rom. ii. 14, lb. 




[Christian losing !iis Diinieri al tlie Cro.-?s.) 

In what 1 have begun to take in hand : 
Then let me think on them, and understand 
Wherefore they show'd me were ; and let me be 
Thankful, Ogood Interpreter ! to thee. 

Now I saw in my dream that the highway, up which Christian 
was to go, was fenced on either side with a wall, and that walJ 
was called Salvation. Up this way, therefore, did burdened Chris- 
tian run, tut not without great difficulty, because of the load on 
his back.* 

' He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending ; and 
upon that place stood a Cross, and a little below, in the bottom, a 
Sepulchre. So I eeav in my dream, that just as Christian came 
up with the Cross, his Burden loosed from off his should.^rs, and 



109 



* Isaiah xxvi. 1. 
10 



lie Hll,(U{l.\r.S l'ilU(iUF,S8. 

fell from off his back, and began to tumble; and so continued l.o 
lo, till it came to the mouth of the Sepulchre, where it fell in, and 
I saw it no more. 
„,, ^ ^ , Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and 

VVlien God releas- ., ., , ^^ tt i i • 

es us or our guilt said, With a merry heart, '• He hath given me rest 
ami burden, we by his soiTow, and life by his death." Then he 
are as tiiose that gj^^^j g^y^ ^ ^.^^^^ ^q j^qJ^ ^^^ wonder ; for it was 

leap for joy, . , A , y~. 

very surprising to him, that the sight of the Cross 
should thus ease him of his Burden. He looked therefore, and 
looked again, even till the springs that were in his head sent the 
waters down his cheeks. Now, as he stood looking and weeping, 
behold three shining ones came to him, and saluted him with 
•^ Peace be to thee :" so the first said to him, " l^hy sins be for- 
sriven thee:" the second stripped him of his rags, and clothed him 
with change of raiment. The third also " set a mark on his fore- 
head," and gave him a Roll, with a 'seal upon it, which he bid 
him look on as he ran, and that he should give it in at the Celes- 
tial Gate ; so they went their way. Then Christian gave three 
leaps of joy, and went on singing,* 

Thus far did I come loaden with my sin ; 

Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in, 
A Christian can Till I came hither ! What a place is this ! 
aing, though alone. Must here be the beginning of my bliss 1 
when God doth give Must here the Burden fail from off my back 1 
him joy in his heart. Must hei'e the strings that bound it to me crack 7 

Bless'd Cross ! bless'd Sepulchre ! bless'd rather be 

The Man that there waa put to shame for me. 

I saw then, m my dream, that he went on thus, even until he 
came at a bottom, where he saw, a little out of the 
way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon their S^^ptb^^"'^ 
neels. The name of the one was Simple, another 
Sloth, the third Presumption. 

Christian, then, seeing them lie in this case, went to them, if 
peradventure he might awake them ; and cried. You are like them 
that sleep on the top of a mast ; for the Dead Sea is under you, a 
gulf that hath no bottom : awake, therefore, and come away ; be 
willing also, and I will help you off with your irons. He also told 
them, If he that goeth about like a roaring lion comes by, you will 
certainly become a prey to his teeth. With that 

There is no per- i,,i , • i ■, ,.. 

suasion will do, if they looked upon him, and began to answer him in 
God openeih not this sort : Simple said, I see no danger ; Sloth said, 
the eyee. yet a little more sleep ! and Presumption said. 

•Zech. xii. 10 Mark ii 5. Z^cb. iii 4. Eph.i.l3. 



pilgrim's iMionnrss. 11 1 

Every fat must stand upon its own bottom. And <o iliey iaid down 
to sleep again, and Christian went on his way.* 

Yet he was troubled to think, that men in that danger should so 
little esteem the kindness of him that so freely offered to help them, 
both by awakening of them, counselling of them, and proffering to 
help them off with their irons. And as he was troubled thereabout, 
he espied two men come tumbling over the wall, on the left hand 
of the narrow way; and they made up apace to him. The name 
of the one was Formalist, and the name of the other Hypocrisy. 
So, as I said, they drew up unto him, who thus entered with them 
into discourse : — 

Chr. Gentlemen, whence come you, and whith- c],ristian talks 
er go you? withtiioui. 

Form, and Hijp. We were born in the land of Vainglory, and 
are going for praise to mount Zion. 

Chr. Why came you not in at the Gate which standelh at the 
beginning of the way % Know ye not that it is written, " That he 
that Cometh not in by the door, but climbeth up some other Avay, 
the same is a thief and a robber?"! 

They said. That to go to the Gate for entrance was, by all their 
countrymen, counted too far about ; and that therefore their usuai 
way was to make a short cut of it, and to Climb over the Wall, as 
they had done. 

Ckr. But will it not be counted a trespass against the Lord of 
the. City, whither we are bound, thus to violate his revealed will? 

They told him, that, as for that, he needed not to trouble his 
head thereabout; for what they did they had custom for; and could 
produce, if need were, testimony that would witness it for more 
than a thousand years. 

But, said Christian, will it stand a trial at law? 

Thev told him, that custom, it being of so long 

-. •' 1. .1 1 nil,. They that come in- 

standmg as above a thousand years, would doubt- ^^ jjjg ^^av but not 
less now be admitted as a thing legal by an impar- by the door, think 
tial judge and besides, say they, if we get into the ^^^^ ^}^^^ f ^". ^^J 

^ . 1.1 ' r, ^r something m vindi- 

way, what matter which way we get m ? It we nation of their 

are in, we are in. Thou art but in the way, who, pract: te. 

as we perceive, came in at the Gate ; and we also 

are in the Avay, that came tumbling over the Wall. Wherein, 

now, is thy condition better than ours ? 

Chr. I w^alk by the Rule of my Master; you walk by the rude 
working of your fancies. You are counted thieves already by the 
Lord of the way ; therefore L doubt you will not be found true men 

• Pro%' xxiii. r!4. ! P.-f. v. 8. 1 .lulm x. 1. 



112 HILUKIM'ri PROGRESS. 

al the end of the way. You come in by yourselves without his 
direction, and shall go out by yourselves without his mercy. 

To this they made him but little answer; only they bid him look 
to himself. Then I saw that they went on, every man in his way, 
without much conference one with another; save that these two 
men told Christian, that, as to Laws and Ordinances, they doubted 
not but that they should as conscientiously do them as he. There- 
fore, said they, we see not wherein thou differest from us, but by 
the coat that is on thy back; which was, as we trow, given thee 
by some of thy neighbours to hide the shame of thy nakedness. 

Chr. By Laws and Ordinances you will not be saved, since yon 
t^ame not in by the Door : And, as for this coat that is on my back, 
it was given me by the Lord of the place whither I go, and that, 
as you say, to cover my nakedness with. And I lake it as a token 
of kindness to me, for I had nothing but rags before ; and, besides. 
Christian has got thus I comfort myself as I go : surely, think I, when 
his Lord's coat^on I come to the Gate of the City, the Lord thereof 
his back, and is ^viU knov7 me for good, since I have his coat on my 

wuh^° he'^is^com" ^^^^' ^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ S^^^ ^^ freely in the day that 
forted also with his he Stripped me of my rags. I have, moreover, a 
mark and his roll, mark in my forehead, of which, perhaps, you have 
taken no notice, which one of my Lord's most intimate associates 
fixed there in the day that my burden fell off my shoulders. I Avill 
tell to you, moreover, that I had then given me a Roll sealed, to 
comfort me by reading, as I go on the way. I was also bid to give 
it in at the Celestial Gate, in token of my certain going in after it. 
All which things I doubt you want ; and want them, because you 
came not in at the Gate. * 

To these things they gave him no answer; only they looked 

upon each other and laughed. Then I saw that they went all on, 

„ save that Christian kept before, who had no more 

Christian has talk „ , . , , . ^f i ^ ^- • i • i 

with himself. ^^^^ "^^ ^^^^" himself, and that sometimes sighingly, 

and sometimes comfortably ; also he would be often 

reading in the Roll that one of the Shining Ones gave him, by 

which he was refreshed. 

I beheld, then, that they all went on till they came at the foot of 
the hill Difficulty, at the bottom of which was a 

hm Difficiu'' ^^'^ spring. There Avere also in the same place two 
other ways, besides that which came straight from 

the Gate ; one turned to the left hand, and the other to the right. 

at the bottom of the hill ; but the narrow way lay right up the nill ; 

and the name of the going up the side of the hill i«! called Difficulty 

' Oal. i ir. 



I'11.c;kim t; i^hockkss. lid 

Christian now went to the spring, and drank thereof to refresh 
nirnself, * and then he began to go up the hill, saying : — 

The hill, though high, I covet to ascend, 

The difficulty will not me offend I 

For I perceive the Way to Life lies here. 

Come, pluck up heart, let's neither faint nor fear 

Bettei-, though difficult, the right way to go, 

Than wrong, though easy, where the end is wo. 

The Other tAvo also came to the foot of the hillj but Avhen they 
saw that the hill was steep and high, and that there were two other 
Avays to go, and supposing also that these two ways might meet 
again Avith that up Avhich Christian went, on the other side of the 
hill, therefore they were resoh^ed to go in those ways. Noav, the 
name of one of those ways Avas Danger^ and the rj-^^e dano-er of 
name of the other Destruction. So the one took turning out of the 
the way which is called Danger, Avhich led him ^^^^' 
into a great wood ; and the other took directly up the way to De- 
struction, which led him into a Avide field, full of dark mountains, 
AA'here he stumbled and fell, and rose no more. 

I looked then after Christian to see him go up the hill, where 1 
perceived he fell from running to going, and from going to clam- 
bering upon his hands and his knees, because of the steepness of 
the place. Now, about the mid-Avay to the top of 
the hill Avas a pleasant arbour, made by the Lord " 

of the hill, for the refreshment of Aveary travellers ; thither, there- 
fore. Christian got, where also he sat doAvn to rest him. Then he 
pulled his Roll out of his bosom, and read therein to his comfort ; 
he also now began afresh to take a review of the coat or garment 
that was given to him as he stood by the Cross. Thus pleasing 
himself a Avhile, he at last fell into a slumber, and thence into a 
fast sleep, which detained him in that place until it AA'-as almost 
night ; and in his sleep his Roll fell out of his 
hand. Now, as he AA'-as sleeping, there came one j^^^^, ^ ^ ^^^^ 
to him, and aAvaked him, saying, " Go to the ant, 
thou sluggard ; consider her ways, and be Avise ;"t and Avith that 
Christian suddenly started up, and sped him on his Avay, and went 
apace till he came to the top of the hill. 

Noav, when he was got up to the top of the hill, ^, . . 
, ' ^ . , . . ' Christian meets 

there came two men runnmg to meet him amam ; ^jth Mistrust and 
the name of the one Avas Timorous, and of the Timorous, 
other Mistrust; to AA^hom Christian said, Sirs, what's the matter, 
y'ou run the Avrong Avay ? Timorous ansAvered, that they Avere ^ 

• Isa. xlix. 10. tProv.vi. 6. 
10* 



Ill i'n.(.j}iM :- i=H<.(..i{i:s.s. 

going to the city of Zion, and hatfgot up liial difficult place: but, 
said he, the farther Ave go, the more danger we meet with; where- 
fore we turned, and are going back again. 

Yes, said Mistrust ; for just before us lie a couple of Lions m 
the way, whether sleeping or waking we know not ; and we could 
not think, if we came within reach, but they would presently pull 
us in pieces. 

Then said Christian, You make me afraid ; but whither shall I 

flee to be safe ? If I go back to my own country, that is prepared 

for fire and brimstone, and I shall certainly perish 

Christian shakes ^^^^^ . -f j ^^^ ^ ^^ ^^^ Celestial City I am sure to 

for fear. i . /. i x i^ i • 

be m safety there. I must venture : to go back is 
nothing but death ; to go forward is fear of death, and life everlast- 
ing beyond it : I will yet go forward. So Mistrust and Timorous 
ran down the hill, and Christian Avent on his way. But thinking 
^„ . . . again of what he had heard from the men, he felt 

Christian misses . , . , ^ i-T.ni i • i i 

his Roll, wherein 1^ bis bosom lor his RoU, that he might read 
he used to take therein, and be comforted ; but he felt and found 
comfort. 1^ jjQ^^ Then was Christian in great distress, and 

knew not what to do; for he wanted that which used to relieve 
. him, and that which should have been his pass 

for his Roll. into the Celestial City. Here, therefore, he begai: 

to be much perplexed, and knew not what to do . 
at last he bethought himself that he had slept in the arbour that is 
on the side of the hill ; and falling down upon his knees, he asked 
God forgiveness for that foolish fact, and then went back to look 
for his Roll. But, all the way he went back, who can sufficiently 
set forth the sorrow of Christian's heart? Sometimes he sighed, 
sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for being so 
foolish to fall asleep in that place, which was erected only for a 
little refreshment for his weariness. Thus, therefore, he went 
back, carefully looking on this side and on that, all the way as he 
went, if happily he might find his Roll that had been his comfort 
so many times in his journey. He went thus, till he came again 
within sight of the Arbour where he sat and slept ; but that sight 
renewed his sorrow the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his 

evil of sleeping into his mind. Thus, therefore. 
Christian bewails jj^. ^qw went on, bewailing his sinful sleep, saying, 
MS oo is s eep- ^^ ^ ^^Tetched man that I am ! that I should sleep 

in the daytime ! that I should sleep in the midst 

of difficulty ! that I should so indulge the flesh, as to use that rest 

for ease to my flesh, which the Lord of the Hill hath erected only 

"ifor the relief of the woirits of pilg"ims ! How many steps have I 




[Christian weeping in the Aroour.] 

taken in vam ! (Thus it happened to Israel, for their sin ihey 
were sent back again by the way of the Red sea,) and I am made 
to tread those steps with sorrow, which I might have trod with 
delight, had it not been for this sinful sleep. How far might 1 
have been on my way by this time! 1 am made to tread those 
steps thrice over, which I needed not to have trod but once : yea, 
now also I am like to be benighted, for the day is almost spent. 
O that I had not slept ! 

Now, by this time, he was came to the Arbour again, where, 
for a while, he sat down and wept ; but, at last, (as 
Providence would have it,) looking sorrowfully Christian findeth 
down under the settle, there he espied his Roll; lostit. 
the which he, with trembling and haste, catched 
up, and put into his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man 
was when he had gotten his Roll again ! for this Roll was the 
assurance of his life and acceptance at the desired haven. There- 
fore he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for directing 
his eye to the place where it lay, and with joy and tears betook 
himself again to his journey. But, O how nimbly now did he go 
up the rest of the hill ! Yet, before he got up, the sun went down 
upon Christian ; and this made him again recall the vanity of his 
sleeping to his remembrance ; and thus he again began to condole 
115 



ilG I'li.GuiM s M{u(;i{i;ss. 

with hiiuselt": C) thou sinful sleep ! how, for thy sake, am I like to 
be benighted in my journey ! I must walk without the sun, dark- 
ness must cover the path of my feet, and I must hear the noise of 
the doleful creatures because of my sinful sleep ! Now, also, he 
remembered the story that Mistrust and Timorous told hmi, of how 
they were frighted with the sight of the Lions. Then said Chris- 
tian to himself again. These beasts range in the night for their 
prey, and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should [ 
shift them? how should I escape being by' them torn in pieces? 
Thus he went on ;.but while he was thus bewailing his unhappy 
miscarriage, he lift up his eyes^ and behold there was a very stately 
palace before him, the name of which was Beautiful ; and it stood 
just by the highway side.* 

So I saw in my dream, that he made haste and went forward, 
that, if possible, he might get lodging there. Now, before he had 
gone far, he entered into a very narrow passage, which was about 
a furlong off of the porter's lodge ; and looking very narrowly 
before him as he went, he espied two Lions in the way. Now, 
thought he, I see the danger that Mistrust and Timorous were 
driven back by. (The Lions were chained, but he saw not the 
chains.) Then he was afraid, and thought also himself to go back 
after them, for he thought nothing but death was before him ; but 
the Porter at the lodge, whose name is Watchful, jterceiving that 
Christian made a halt as if he would go back, cried unto him, 
saying, Is thy strength so small ? fear not the Lions, for they are 
chained, and are placed there for trial of faith where it is, and foi 
discovery of those that have none : keep in the midst of the path, 
and no hurt shall come unto thee. 

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the Lions ; 
but, taking good heed to the directions of the Porter, he heard them 
roar, but they did him no harm. Then he clapped his hands, and 
went on till he came and stood before the gate where the Porter 
was. Then said Christian to the Porter, Sir, Avhat house is this ? 
and may I lodge here to-night ? The Porter answered, This house 
was built by the Lord of the Hill, and he built it for the relief and 
security of Pilgrims. The Porter also asked, Whence he was? 
and whither he was going ? 

Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, and am going to 
mount Zion ; but because the sun is now set, I desire, if I may, to 
lodge here to-night. 

Por. What is your name ? 

Chr. My name is now Christian ; but my name at first was 

• Rev. iii. 2. 1 Thess. v. 7, 8. 




^Chnstian pasoinaflie Lions.) 

Graceless : 1 came of the race of Japheth, whom God will persuade 
;o dwell in the tents of Shem.* 

Por. But how doth it happen that you come so late ? the sun 
IS set. 

Chr. I had been here sooner, but that, wretched man that I am, 
I slept in the Arbour that stands on the hillside. Nay, I had, not- 
withstanding that, been here much sooner, but that, in my sleep, I 
lost my Evidence, and came without it to the brow of the hill ; and 
then feeling for it, and not finding it. I was forced, with sorrow of 
heart, to go back to the place where I slept my sleep ; where I 
found it, and now I am come. 

Por. Well, I will call out one of the Virgms of this place, who 
will (if she likes your talk) bring you in to the rest of the family, 
according to the rules of the House. So Watchful, the Porter, 
rang a bell, at the sound of which, came out of the door of the 
liouse a grave and beautiful damsel, named Discretion^ and asked. 
Why she was called ? 

The Porter answered. This man is on a journey from the city 
of Destruction to mount Zion, but, being weary and benighted, he 
asked me if he might lodge here to-night ; so I told him I would 
call for thee, who, after discourse had with him, may€st do as 
seemeth thee good, even according to the law of the House. 



117 



118 IMLGKI.M'S I'ROGHLSS. 

Then she asked him, Whence he was ? and whither he was 
going? and he told her. She asked him also, How he got into 
the Avay ? and he told her. Then she asked him. What he had 
seen and met with in the way ? and he told her. And at last she 
asked his name ? So he said, it is Christian; and I have so much 
the more a desire to lodge here to-night, because, by what I per 
ceive, this place Avas built by the Lord of the hill, for the relief and 
security of Pilgrims. So she smiled, but the water stood in her 
eyes : and, after a little pause, she said, I will call forth two or three 
more of the family. So she ran to the door, and called out Pru- 
dence, Piety, and Charity, who, after a little more discourse witli 
him, had him in to the family ; and many of them meeting him at 
the threshold of the house, said. Come in, thou blessed of the 
Lord ; this house was built by the Lord of the hill, on purpose to 
entertain such Pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head, and followed 
them into the house : so, when he was come in, and sat down, they 
gave him something to drink, and consented together, that, until 
supper was ready, some of them should have some particular dis- 
course with Christian, for the best improvement of time ; and they 
appointed Piety, Prudence, and Charity, to discourse with him : 
and thus they began : 

Piety discourses ^''**^^^- ^.^"^^' »°°^ Christian, since we have 
him. been so loving to you to receive you into our house 

this night, let us, if perhaps we may better ourselves thereby, talk 
with you of all things that have happened to you in your pilgrimage 

Chr. With a very good will ; and I am glad that you are so 
well disposed. 

Piety. What moved you at first to betake yourself to a pilgrim's 
life? 

How Christian was C%r. I was driven out of my native country by 
driven out of Ins ^ dreadful sound that was in mine ears, to wit, that 
unavoidable destruction did attend me, if I abode 
in that place where I was. 

Piety. But how did it happen that you came out of your country 
this way? 

Chr. It was as God would have it : for when I was under the 
How lie jrot into fears of destruction, I did not know whither to go : 
the way tn zion. \yy^x |)y chance there came a man, even to me, as 1 
was trembling and weeping, whose name is Evangelist, and he 
directed me to the Wicket-Gate, which else I should never have 
found, and so set me into the way that hath led me directly to this 
house. 

Piefy, But did you not coine 1>y t]ie house of tlic Interpreter'? 



J'll.GKIMS PUoGKEiS. I I'J 

Chr. Yes, and did see sucli things there, the remembrance of 
which will stick by me as long as I live : especially ^ , , <- , . 

^ . 7^, . . ^ . ■' A rehearsal of wliaf 

three thmgs, to wit. How Christ, in despite of he saw in the way 
of Satan, maintains his work of grace in the heart ; 
how the Man had sinned himself quite out of hopes of God's mercy ; 
and also the dream of him that thought in his sleep the Day of 
Judgment was come. 

Piety. Why, did you hear him tell his dream ? 

Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was, I thought ; it made my 
heart ache as he was telling of it; but yet I am glad I heard it. 

Piety. Was this all you saw at the house of the Interpreter? 

Chr. No, he took me, and had me where he showed me a stately 
palace, and how the people were clad in gold that were in it ; and 
how there came a venturous Man, and cut his way through the 
armed men that stood in the door to keep him out; and how he 
was bid to come in and win eternal glory. Methought those things 
did ravish my heart ! I would have stayed at that good man's house 
a twelvemonth, but that I knew I had farther to go. 

Piety. And what saw you else in the way. 

Chr. Saw ! Why, I Avent but a little farther, and I saw one, as 
1 thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon a Tree: and the very 
sight of him made my burden fall off my back; for I groaned under 
a very heavy burden, but then it fell down from off me ! 'Twas 
a strange thing to me, for I never saw such a thing before ; yea, 
and w^hile I stood looking up, (for then I could not forbear looking,) 
three Shining ones came to me; one of them testified that my sins 
were forgiven me ; another stripped me of my rags, and gave me 
this broidered coat which you see; and the third set the Mark 
which you see in my forehead, and gave me this sealed Roll: (and 
with that he plucked it out of his bosom.) 

Piety. But you saw more than this, did you not ? 

Chr. The things that I have told you were the best ; yet some 
other matters I saw; as namely, I saw three men, Simple, Sloth, 
and Presumption, lie asleep a little, out of the way as I came, with 
irons upon their heels ; but do you think I could awake them ? I 
also saw Formality and Hypocrisy come tumbling over the wall, 
to go, as they pretended, to Zion; but they were quickly lost, even 
as I myself did tell them, but they w^ould not believe : but, above 
all, I found it hard work to get up this hill, and as hard to come 
by the Lion's mouths ; and truly, if it had not been for the good 
man the porter, that stands at the Gate, I do not know but that, 
after all, I might have gone back again ; but, T thank God, I am 
here, and thank you for receiving me. 



12U ni.Giii.M 3 riiu<.i!i;ss. 

Then Prudence thought good to ask liim a lew questions, aful 
desired his ansAver to them. 

Prudence dis- Prud. Do j^ou not think sometimes of the coun- 

courees him. try from whence you came ? 

Christian's ^^^'^' Yes, but with much shame and detestation ; 

tiioughtsofhis truly, if I had been mindful of that country from 
naiive country whence I came out, I might have had opportunity 
to have returned; but now I desire a better country, that is a heav- 
enly one. * 

Prud. Do you not yet bear away with you some of the things 
that then you were conversant withal? 

Christian distasted Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will ; especially 
with carnal cogita- my inward and carnal cogitations, with which all 
tions. j^y countrymen, as well as myself, were delighted ; 

but now all those things are my grief; and might I but choose 
,,^ . . , , . mine own things, I would choose never to think 

Christian's choice. ,. , , . =■ ' , , ^ , , , 

ot those things more ; but when I would be a-doing 
of that which is best, that which is worst is with me. f 

Prud. Do you not find sometimes as if those things were van- 
quished, which, at other times are your perplexity '? 

Chr. Yes, but that is but seldom ; but they aire 
hourf ^"'' ^°^'^'" ^° ^^^ golden hours in which such things happen 
to me. 
Prud. Can you remember by what means you find your annoy 
ances at times, as if they were vanquished ? 

Chr. Yes, when I think what I saw at the Cross 
How Christian gets that wiU do it; and when I look upon my broidered 
con-uptkfns"^ "^ ^o^^j ^^^^ ^^^^ ^0 it ; and when I look into the Roll 
that I carry in my bosom, that will do it ; and 
when my thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, that will 
do it. 

Prud. And what is it that makes you so desirous to go to mount 
Zion ? 

Chr. Why, there I hope to see Him alive that 
vviiy ciu-istian ^[^ hang dead XDn the Cross ; and there I hope to 
mount Zion. ^ ^^ ^^^ of all those things, that, to this day, are in 
me an annoyance to me ; there they say there is 
no death, and there I shall dwell with such company as I like best 
For, to tell you truth, I love Him, because I was by Him eased of 
my Burden. And I am weary of my inward sickness ; I would 
fain be where I shall die no more, and with the company that shall 
continually cry, Holy. Holy, Holy.X 

• neb. xi. 15, IG. t Roin vii. 15. : Isaiah .xxv. 8. Rev. xxi.4. 



pilgrim's progress. 12\ 

Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a charity discourses 
family ? Are you a married man ? him- 

Chr. 1 have a vs^ife and four small children. 
Char. And why did not you bring them along with you ? 
Then Christian wept, and said, Oh ! how wil- ^^ . ,. , , 

^ > ' HP Christian's love to 

lingly would I have done it ! but they were all of ^jg wife and chii- 
them utterly averse to my going on pilgrimage. dren. 

Char. But you should have talked with them and have endeav- 
oured to have shown them the danger of staying behind. 

Chr. So I did ; and told them also what God had shown me of 
the destruction of our city ; but I seemed to them as one that 
mocked, and they believed me not.* 

Char. And did you pray to God, that he would bless youi 
counsel to them 1- 

Chr. Yes, and that with much affection; for you must think that 
my wife and poor children were very dear to me. 

Char. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and fear of 
destruction ? for I suppose that destruction was visible enough 
to you. 

Chr. Yes, over, and over, and over. They r^. . ,. , f 

' ' . ' . ■' Christian's fear ol 

might also see my fears m my countenance, m my perishing might be 
tears, ajid also in my trembling under the appre- read in his very 
nension of the judgment that did hang over our <^«™tenance. 
heads ; but all was not sufficient to prevail with them to come 
with me. 

Char. But what could they say for themselves why they came 
not? 

Chr. Why, my wife was afraid of losing this ^^ , ^ 

■" •' . ^ n T 1 The cause why his 

world ; and my children were given to the foolish wife and children 
delights of youth; so, what by one thing, and what did not go with 
by another, they left me to wander in this manner ^*™' 
alone. 

Char. But did you not, with your vain life, damp all "that you 
by words used by way of persuasion to bring them away with 
, you ? 

Chr. Indeed I cannot commend my life, for I am conscious to 
myself of many failings therein : I kn.ow also, that a man by his 
conversation may soon overthrow what, by argument or persua 
sion, he doth labour to fasten upon others for their good. Yet this 
I can say, I was very wary of giving them occasion, by any un- 
seemly action, to make them averse to going on pilgrimage. Yea. 

* Cen. xix. 14. 



122 pilgrim's progress. 

for this very thing, they would tell me I was too 
conversation ^ be^ Precise, and that I denied myself of things, for their 
fore his wife and sakes, in which they saw no evil. Nay, I think I 
children. j^^y g.^^.^ ^]^^^ ^f -yj-j^r^i tj^gy ga,^ jq ^e did hinder 

them, it was my great tenderness in sinning against God, or of 
doing any wrong to my neighbom'. 

Char. Indeed Cain hated his brother, because his own works 
. were evil, and his brother's righteous ; and if thy 

tiieir blood if they wife and children have been offended with thee 
perisii. for this, they thereby show themselves to be impla- 

cable to good : thou hast delivered thy soul from their blood.* 
Now I saw in my dream, that thus they sat talking together 
until supper was ready. So, when they had made 

What Christian had j A * j 1 \ +i, + vi 

to his supper. ready, they sat down to meat : nov/ the table was 

furnished with fat things, and wine that was well 
refined ; and all their talk at the table was about the Lord of the 
Hill ; as, namely, about what He had done, and 
per^-time. ^ ^"^ wherefore He did v/hat He did, and why He had 
built that house ; and by what they said, I per- 
ceived that He had been a great warrior, and had fought with and 
slain him that had the power of death, but not without great danger 
to himself, which made me love him the more.f 

For, as they said, and as I believe, said Christian, He did it with 
the loss of much blood ; but that which put the glory of grace into 
all He did, was, that He did it out of pure love to this country. 
And, besides, there were some of them of the household that said 
they had been and spoke with Him since He did die on the Cross ; 
and they have attested that they had it from his own lips, that He 
is such a lover of poor Pilgrims, that the like is not to be found 
from the east to the Avest. 

They moreover gave an instance of what they affirmed ; and that 

was, He had stripped himself of his glory, that he might do this 

for the poor : and that they heard him say and affirm, that he would 

not dioell in the mountain of Zion alone. They 

Christ makes prin- ., ^^ j. ^ ^ t t T\'^ 

ces of beggars. said, moreover, that he had made many Pilgrims 
Princes, though by nature they were beggars born, 
and their original had been the dunghill.:]: 

Thus they discoursed together till late at night ; and, after they 
had committed themselves to their Lord for protection, they betook 

„,..,,, themselves to rest ; the Pilgrim they laid in a large 

Christian's bed- , , , . , •^ , •, f 

chamber. Upper chamber, whose window opened towards the 

sun-rising : the name of the chamber was Peace, 

• J John iii. 12. Ezck. iii. 10. t Ilcb. ii. H, 15, | 1 Sam, ii. 8 Psalm cxiii. 7 



pilgrim's progress. 123 

where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang : 

Where am I now 1 Is this the love and care 
Of Jesus, for the men that Pilgrims are, 
Thus to provide 1 that I should be forgiven ; 
And dwell already the next door to heaven ! 

So in the morning they all got up ; and after some more dis- 
course, they told him. that he should not depart till 
they had shown him the rarities of that place. Christian had into 
And, first, they had him into the Study, where he^aw there, 
they showed him Records of the greatest anti- 
quity ; in which, as I remember my dream, they showed him the 
pedigree of the Lord of the Hill, that he was the Son of the Ancient 
of Days, and came by that eternal generation. Here also was 
more fully recorded the acts that he had done, and the names of 
many hundreds that he had t;3Vpd into his service ; and how he 
had placed them in such habitations that could, neither by length 
of days, nor decays of nature, be dissolved. 

Thea they read to him some of the worthy acts that some of his 
servants had done; as how they had subdued kingdoms, vnrought 
righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, 
quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out 
of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned 
to flight the armies of the aliens.* 

Then they read again in another part of the Records of the 
house, where it was shown how willing their Lord was to receive 
into his favour any, even any, though they in time past had o^ered 
great affronts to his person and proceedings. Here also were sev- 
eral other histories of many other famous things, of all which 
Christian had a view ; as of things both ancient and modern, to- 
gether with prophecies and predictions of things that have their 
certain accomplishment, both to the dread and amazement of ene- 
mies, and the comfort and solace of Pilgrims. 

The next day they took him and had him into ^ 

1 -i •' , 1 1 . n Christian had into 

the armory, where tney showed him all manner j^^g armory, 
of furniture which their Lord had provided for Pil- 
grims ; as sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, all-prayer, and shoes 
that would not wear out : and there was here enough of this to 
harness out as many men, for the service of their Lord, as there be 
stars in the heaven for multitude. 

They also showed hun some of the engines with christian is made 
which some of his servants had done wonderful to see ancient 
things. They shov^ed him Moses's rod, the ^^'"^^ 

* Ileb. xi. 33. 34. 



124 pilgrlm's progress. 

hammer and nail with which Jael slew Sisera, the pitchers, 
trumpets, and lamps, too with which Gideon put to fligh* 
the armies of Midian. Then they showed him the ox's goad, 
wherewith Shamgar slew six hundred men. They showed him 
also the jawbone with which Samson did such mighty feats. 
They showed him, moreover, the sling and stone with which David 
slew Goliah of Gath ; and the sword also with which the Lord 
will kill the Man of Sin in that day that he shall rise up to the 
prey. They showed him, besides, many excellent things, with 
which Christian was much delighted. This done, they went to 
their rest again. 

Then I saw, in my dream, that on the morrow he got up to go 
forward 3 but they desired him to stay till the next day also ; and 
and then, said they, we will, if the day be clear, show you the 
Delectable Mountains ; which, they said, would yet farther add 
to his comfort, because they were nearer the desired haven than 
Christian showed ^^^ place where at present he was : so he consented 
the Delectable and Stayed. When the morning was up, they had 
Mountains. j^ijj^ to the top of the house, and bid him look 

south ;* so he did; and behold, at a great distance, he saw a most 
pleasant mountainous country, beautified with woods, vineyards, 
fruits of all sorts, flowers also, with springs and fountains, very 
delectable to behold. Then he asked the name of the country? 
they said, it was Immanuel's Land ; and it is as common, said 
they, as this hill is, to and for all the Pilgrims ; and when thou comest 
there,.from thence thou mayest see to the Gate of the Celestial 
City, as the shepherds that live there will make appear. 

Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and they were 
willing he should : but first, said they, let us go again into the 
Christian set for- armory : so they did ; and, when he came there, 
^^^"d- they harnessed him from head to foot with what 

was of proof, lest perhaps he should meet with assaults in the way. 
Christian sent away He, being therefore thus accoutred, walked out 
armed. ^ith his friends to the gate, and there he asked 

the porter, if he saw any Pilgrim pass by ? Then the porter an- 
swered. Yes. 

Pray, did you* know him? said he. 

Par. I asked his name, and he told me it was Faithful. 

O ! said Christian, I know him ! he is my townsman, my near 
neighbour ; he comes from the place where I was born. How far 
do you think he may be before ? 

Por. He is got by this time below the hill. 

* Isaiah xxxiii. 16, 17. 



pilgrim's progress, 125 

Well, said Christian, good porter, the Lord be h^.^ ciuistian and 
with thee, and add to all thy blessings much in- the porter greet 
crease, for the kindness thou hast showed to me. ^^ parting. 

Then he began to go forward ; but Discretion, Piety, Charity, 
and Prudence, would accompany him down to the foot of the hill. 
So they went on together, reiterating their former discourses, till 
they came to go down the hill. Then said Christian, As it was 
difficult coming up, so far as I can see, it is dangerous going down, 
^es, said Prudence, so it is ; for it is a hard matter The valley of Hu- 
for a man to go down into the Valley of Humilia- miiiation. 
lion, as thou art now, and to catch no slip by the way ; therefore, 
said they, we are come out to accompany thee down the hill. So 
he began to go down the hill, but very warily j yet he caught a slip 
or two. 

Then I saw in my dream, that these good companions (when 
Christian was got down to the bottom of the hill) gave him a loaf 
of bread, a bottle of wine, and a cluster of raisins j and then he went 
on his way. 

Whilst Christian is among his godly friends, 
Their golden mouths make him sufficient mends 
For ail his griefs ; and when they let him go 
He's clad with northern steel from top to toe. 

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was 
hard put to it ; for he had gone but a little way, before he espied 
a foul fiend coming over the field to meet him : his name is Apoll- 
yon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his 
mind whether to go back, or to stand his ground : christian has no 
But he considered again that he had no armour armour for his 
for his back; and therefore thought, that to turn 
the back to him might give him greater advantage with ease to 
pierce him with his darts ; therefore he resolved christian's resoiu- 
to venture, and stand his ground ; for, thought he, tion on the ap- 
had I no more m my eye than the saving of my proach of ApoUyon. 
life, 'twould be the best way to stand. 

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now, the Monster was 
hideous to behold: he was clothed with scales like a Pish, (and 
they are his pride ;) he had wings like a Dragon, feet like a Bear, 
and out of his belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was as 
the mouth of a Lion. When he came up to Christian, he beheld 
him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began to question with 

nim : ^ Discourse betwixt 

Apol. Whence come you, and whither are you Christian & Apoii 
bound ? yo"- 

11* 



126 PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

Chr. I am come from the city of Destruction, which is the place 
of all evil, and I am going to the city of Zion. 

Apol. By this I perceive that thou art one of my subjects ; for 
all that country is mme, and I am the Prince and God of it. How 
is it, then, that thou hast run aAvay from thy King ? Were it not 
that I hope thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee 
now, at one blow, to the ground. 

Chr. I was indeed born in your dominions ; but your service was 
hard, and your wages such as a man could not live on, " for the 
wages of sin is death ;" * Therefore, when I was come to years, 
I did, as other considerate persons do, look out, if perhaps I mi^' 
mend myself. 

Apol. There is no Prince that will thus lightly lose his subjects, 
neither will I as yet lose thee : but since thou com- 

ApoUyon's flcittery. , . ^ , ■' . , , 

plainest of thy service and wages, be content to go 
back: what our country will afford, I do here promise to give thee. 

Chr. But I have let myself to another, even to the King of 
Princes j and how can I with fairness go back with thee? 
Apoiiyon under- Apol. Thou hast done in this according to the 
values Christ's proverb, " Change a bad for a worse." But it is 
service. Ordinary for those that have professed themselves 

his servants, after a v/hile, to give him the slip, and return again 
to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be well. 

Chr. I have given him my faith, and sworn my allegiance to 
him ; how then can I go back from this, and not be hanged as a 
traitor? 

Apol. Thou didst the same to me ; and yet I am willing to pass 
by all, if now thou wilt yet turn and go back. 

Chr. What I promised thee was in my non-age ; and, besides, I 
count that the Prince under whose banner now I stand is able to 
absolve me ; yea, and to pardon also Avhat I did as to my compli 
ance with thee: and besides, (O thou destroying Apoiiyon !) lo 
speak truth, I like his service, his wages, his servants, his govern- 
ment, his company, and country, better than thine ; and therefore 
leave oif to persuade me farther; I am his servant, and I will 
follow him. 

Apol. Consider again, when thou art m cool 
the" grievous ends blood, what thou art like to meet with in the way 
of Christians, to that thou goest. Thou knowest that, for the most 
dissuade Christian -^^^1, his servants come to an ill end, because thev 

from persisting in -^ ' . , ^ tt " 

his way. ^^^ transgressors against me and my ways. How 

many of them have been put to shameful deaths! 

* Rom. vi. 23. 



I'lLGHlM'ri I'KoCHESS. 127 

And, besides, thou couiitest his service better than mine, whereas 
he never yet came from the place where he is to deliver any that 
served him out of their hands ; but as for me, how many times, as 
all the world very well knows, have I delivered, either by power 
or fraud, those that have faithfully served me, from him and his, 
though taken by them ! — and so will I deliver thee. 

Chr. His forbearing at present to deliver them is on purpose to 
try their love, whether they will cleave to him to the end ; and as 
for the ill end thou sayest they come to, that is most glorious in 
their account ; for, for present deliverance, they do not much expect 
it ; for they stay for their glory, and then they shall have it, when 
their Prince comes in his, and the gloiy of the angels. 

Afol. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service to him, 
and how dost thou think to receive wages of him? 

Chr. Wherein, O Apollyon, have I been unfaithful to him ? 

Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when , „ , ^ 

1 , ,,,. , 1,-^-rT- 1 Apollyon plead3 

thou wast almost choked m the gulf oi Despond ; christian's infirm- 
thou didst attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy ities against him. 
Burden ; whereas thou shouldst have sta^^ed till thy Prince had taken 
it off. Thou didst sinfully sleep, and lose thy choice things. Thou 
wast also almost persuaded to go back at the sight of the Lions ; 
and when thou talkest of thy journey, and of what thou hast heard 
and seen, thou art inwardly desirous of vain-glory in all that thou 
sayest or dost. 

Chr. All this is true, and much more which thou hast left out ; 
but the Prince whom I serve and honour is merciful, and ready to 
forgive : but, besides, these infirmities possessed me in thy country ; 
for there I sucked them in, and I have groaned under them, been 
sorry for them, and have obtained pardon of my Prince. 

Then Apoliyon broke out into a grievous rage, , „ 

T *^u--D- fTU^u- Apollyon m a rage 

saymg, I am an enemy to this Prmce I I hate his faUg upon Chris- 
person, and laws, and people, and am come out on tian. 
purpose to withstand thee. 

Chr. Apollyon, beware what you do ; for I am in the King's 
highway, the Way of Holiness ; therefore take heed to yourself. 

Then Apollyon straddled quite over the w^hole breadth of tl;ie 
way, and said, I am void of fear in this matter ; prepare thyself to 
die ; for I swear by my infernal den that thou shalt go no farther . 
here will I spill thy soul ! — And with that he threw a flaming darl 
at his breast; but Christian had a shield in his hand, with which 
he caught it, and so prevented the danger of that. 

Then did Christian draw, for he saw it w^as time to bestir him, 
and Apollyon as fast made at him, throv/ing darts as thick as haih 




[Christian's fight with Apollyon.] 

Dy the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid 
, . . , , it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, 

Christian wounded , ft mi ■ i /-<i • • • i- i -l i 

in his understand- ^iid loot. T. his made Christian give a little back ; 
ing, faiih, and con- Apollyon, therefore, followed his work amain, and 
versation. Christian again took courage, and resisted as man- 

fully as he could. This sore comoat lasted for above half a day. 
even till Christian was almost quite spent ; for you must know 
that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must needs grow weaker 
and weaker. 

ApoUyon casteth Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began 
Christian down to to gather up close to Christian, and, wrestling with 
the ground. \^[^^ gave him a dreadful fall ; and with that Chris- 

tian's sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure 
of thee now ; and with that he had almost pressed him to death 
so that Christian began to despair of life. But, as God would 
have it, while Apollyon was fetching his last blow, thereby to make 
a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly reached out his hand 

for his sword, and caught it, saying: " Rejoice not 
oveTApoiiyon.°^^ against me, O mine enemy ! when I fall, I shall 

arise j" and with that gave him a deadly thrust, 
which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal 
wound. Christian, perceiving that, made at him again, saying 
128 



PILGRlM'ri rnoGREss, 129 

" ?\^ay, in all these things, we are more than conquerors, through 
Him that loved us ;" and with that Apollyon spread forth his drag- 
on's wings, and sped him away, that Christian saw him no more.* 

In this combat, no man can imagine, unless he ^ ^rief relation of 
had seen and heard, as I did, what yelling and hid- the combat by the 
eous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the ^P'^^^^ator. 
fight. He spake like a Dragon ; and, on the other side, what sighs 
and groans burst from Christian's heart. I never saw him all the 
while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived he had 
womded Apollyon with his two-edged sword: then, indeed, he 
did smile, and look upward ; but 'twas the dreadfulest sight that 
ever I saw. 

So, when the battle was over. Christian said, I christian gives 
will here give thanks to him that hath delivered God thanks for his 
me out of the mouth of the Lion, to him that did deliverance. 
help me against Apollyon ! And so he did, saying : — 

Great Beelzebub, the Captain of this fiend, 
Design'd my ruin ; therefore to this end 
He sent him harness'd out ; and he, vpith rage 
That hellish was, did fiercely me engage ; 
But blessed Michael helped me ; and I, 
By dint of sword, did quickly make him jfly : 
Therefore to him let me give lasting praise, 
And thank and bless his holy name always. 

Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves of the 
Tree of Life, the which Christian took and applied to the wounds 
that he had received in the battle, and was healed immediately. 
He also sat down in that place to eat bread, and to drink of the 
bottle that was given to him a little before 5 so, christian goes on 
being refreshed, he addressed himselfto his journey, his journey with 
with his sword drawn in his hand ; for, he said, I ^'^ sword drawn 
know not but some other enemy may be at hand. 
But he met with no other affront from Apollyon quite through this 
valley. 

Now at the end of this valley was another, called The Vaiiey of the 
The Valley of the Shadow of Death ; and Chris- siiadow of Death. 
tian must needs go through it, because the way to the Celestial 
City lay through the midst of it. Now, this valley is a very soli- 
tary place. The prophet Jeremiah thus describes it; "A wilder- 
ness, a land of deserts and pits ; a land of drought, and of the shadow 
of death ; a land that no man (but a Christian) passeth through_, 
and where no man dwelt." f 

• Micah vii. 8. Rom, viii. 8, 9. James iv. 6. t Jer. ii. 6 




[ The Valley of the Shadow of Death.] 

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his fight with 
ApoUyon, as by the sequel you shall see. 

The children of I saw then in my dream, that when Christian 
the spies go back, -^^as got to the borders of the Shadow of Death, 
there met him two men, children of them that brought up an evil 
report of the good land, making haste to go back;* to whom Chris- 
tian spake as follows : — 

Chr. Whither are you going? 

They said, Back ! back ! and we would have you do so too, if 
either life or peace is prized by you. 

Why, what's the matter 1 said Christian. 

Matter ! said they ; we were going that way, as you are going, 
and went as far as we durst; and indeed we were almost past 
coming back; for had we gone a litttle further, we had not been 
here to bring the news to thee. 

But what have you met with ? said Christian. 

Men. Why we were almost in the Valley of the Shadow of 
Death ;t but that by good-hap we looked before us, and saw the 
danger before we came to it. 

But what have you seen? said Christian. 

Men. Seen ! why, the Valley itself, which is as dark as pitch. 



tP^alrn xliv, 19. Psalir 



i::ir' 




[Christian in tlie Valley of tiie Shadow of Death.] 



We also saw there the Hobgoblins, Satyrs, and Dragons of the 
pit. We heard also, in that Valley, a continual howling and yel- 
ling, as of a people under unutterable misery, who there sat bound 
m affliction and irons; and over that Valley hang the discouraging- 
clouds of Confusion : Death also doth always spread his wings ovc 
it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order ^ 

Then said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what you have sa*:l, 
but that this is my way to the desired haven, f 

Men. Be it thy way ; we will not choose it for ours. 

So they parted, and Christian went on his way, but still -ssrith 
feiis sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should be assf-.'^ed. 

I saAV then in my dream, so far as this Valley reached^ *here 
was on the right hand a very deep ditch : that Ditch is it into 



]31 



* Job iii. 5 :ind x. 22. 



132 \'n.i\i'.nrs frogress. 

which ihe blind liaYe led the blind in all ages, and have both there 
miserably perished. Again, behold, on the left hand, there was a 
very dangerous quag, into which if even a good man falls, he finds 
no bottom for his foot to stand on. Into that Q,uag King David 
once did fall, and had, no doubt, therein been smothered, had not 
He that is able plucked him out. 

The pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore 
good Christian was the more put to it ; for when he sought in the 
dark to shun the ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip over 
into the mire on the other; also, when he sought to escape the 
mire, vmhout great carefulness, he would be ready to fall into the 
ditch. Thus he went on ; and I heard him here sigh bitterly ; for, 
l)esides the danger mentioned above, the pathway was here so 
dark, that ofttimes, when he lifted up his foot to set forward, Le 
knew not where or upon what he should set it next. 

About the midst of this Valley I perceived the mouth of Hell ta 
be, and it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, thought Chris'tian, 
what shall I do? And ever and anon, the flame and smoke would 
come out in such abundance, with sparks, and hideous noises, 
(things that cared not for Christian's sword, as did Apolly on before,) 
that he was forced to put up his sv/ord, and betake himself to an- 
other weapon, called All-prayer ; so he cried, in my hearing, ^'O 
Lord ! I beseech thee, deliver my soul." * Thus he went on a 
great while, yet still the flames would be reaching towards him. 
Also he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro, so that some- 
times he thought he should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like 
mire in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these 
dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles together ; and 
Christian put to a coming to a place where he thought he heard a 
stand for a while, company of Fiends coming forward to meet him, he 
stopped, and began to muse what he had best to do. Sometimes 
he had half a thought to go back ; then, again, he thought he might 
be halfway through the valley ; he remembered also how he had 
already vanquished many a danger, and that the danger of going 
back might be much more than for to go forward : so he resolved 
to go on. Yet the Fiends seemed to come nearer and nearer ; but 
when they were come even almost at him, he cried out, with a most 
vehement voice, " I will walk in the strength of the Lord God ;" 
so they gave back, and came no farther. 

One thing I would not let slip : I took notice that now poor 
Christian was so confounded, that he did not know his own voice ; 

•Eph. vi. la Psalracxvi. 3, 



HiORI.M's PllOGREf?.?. 13l< 

and ihu3 I perceived it : iust when he was come ^, . . 

. ^ , , P , 1 • . r. <^hnstian made tf. 

over .igamst the mouth oi the burning pit, one oi believe tiiat he 
the Wicked ones got behind him, and stepped up spake biasphe- 
softly to him, and, whisperingly suggested many JaSt^atTugS 
grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily ed them into his 
thought had proceeded from his own mind. This ™"d. 
put Christian more to it than any thing that he met with before, 
even to think that he should now blaspheme him that he loved so 
much before : yet, if he could have helped it, he would not have 
done it ; but he had not the discretion either to stop his ears, or to 
know from whence these blasphemies came. 

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate condition 
some considerable time, he thought he heard the voice of a man as 
going before him, saying, " Though I walk through the Valley of 
the Shadow of Death, I will fear none ill ; for thou art with me."* 

Then was he glad, and that for these reasons : — 

First, Because he gathered from thence, that some who feared 
God were in this valley as Avell as himself. 

Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them, though m 
that dark and dismal state ; and why not, thought he, with me ? 
though, by reason of the impediment that attends this place, I can- 
not perceive it."]- 

Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them, to have 
company by-and-by. 

So he went on, and called to him that was before ; but he knew 
not what to answer; for that he also thought himself alone. And 
by-and-by the day broke : Then said Christian, "He hath turned 
the shadow of death into the morning."| 

Now, morning being come, he looked back, not out of desire to 
return, but to see, by the light of the day, what ^, . . 
hazards he had gone through in the dark: so he break of day. 
saw more perfectly the Ditch that was on the one 
hand, and the Q,uag that was on the other; also how narrow the 
Avay was which led betwixt them both ; also now he saw the Hob- 
goblins, and Satyrs, and Dragons of the pit, but all afar off; for, 
after break of day, they came not nigh: yet they were discovered 
to him, according to that which is written, " He discovereth deep 
things out of darkness, and bringeth out to light the shadow of 
death."§ 

Now was Christian much affected with this deliverance fromall 
the dangers of his solitary way; which dangers, though he feared 
them much before, yet he saw them more clearly now, because the 

• Psahn xxiii. 4. t Job ix. 10. t Amos v. 8. § Job xii. 22. 
12 




i)as.^jn^ the Ca^ 



light of the day made ihem conspicuous to him; and about this 
time the sun was rising, and this was another mercy to Christian ; 
for you must note, that though the first part of the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death was dangerous, yet this second 
The second part p^rt, which he was vet to go, was, if possible, far 

of this valley very ^' p% ^liuu 

dangerous. more dangerous : for, from the place where he now 

stood, even to the end of the Valley, the way was 
all along set so full of snares, traps, gins, and nets here, and so full 
of pits, pit-falls, deep holes, and shelvings down there, that, had it 
now been dark, as it was when he came the first part of the way, 
had he had a thousand souls, they had in reason been cast away ; 
but, as I said, just now the sun was rising. Then said he, " His 
candle shinetn on my head, and by his light I go through dark- 
ness."* 

• Job ixix. i. 

134 



PILUHJM'S PROGRESS. • 13d 

In this light, therefore, he came to the end of the valley. Now 
I saw in my dream, that at the end of the valley lay blood, bones, 
ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even of Pilgrims that had gone 
this way formerly ; and, while I was musing what should be the 
reason, I espied, a little before me, a cave, where two giants. Pope 
and Pagan, dwelt in old time, by whose power and tyranny the 
men, whose bones, blood, ashes, &c., lay there, were cruelly put to 
death. By this place Christian went without much danger, whereat 
I somewhat wondered : but I have learned since, that Pagan has 
been dead many a day ; and as for the other, though he be yet 
alive, he is, by reason of age, and also of the many shrewd brushes 
that he met with in his younger days, grown so crazy and stiff in 
his joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his Cave's 
mouth, grinning at Pilgrims as they go by, and biting his nails 
because he cannot come at them. 

So I saw that Christian went on his way 5 yet, at the sight of 
the "Old Man that sat at the mouth of the Cave, he could not tell 
what to think, 'specially because he spoke to him, though he could 
not go after him, saying. You will never mend till more of you be 
burnt ! But he held his peace, and set a good face on it, and so 
went by, and catched no hurt. Then sang Christian : — 

O world of wonders \ (I can say no less,) 

That I should be preserved in that distress 

That I have met with here ! O blessed be 

That hand that from it hath deliver'd me ! 

Dangers in darkness, Devils, Hell, and Sin, 

Did compass me, while I this vale was in : 

Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and nets did lie 

My path about ; that worthless, silly I, 

Might have been catch'd, entangled, and cast down : 

But, since I live, let Jesus wear the crown. 

Now, as Christian went on his way, he came to a little ascent, 
which was cast up on purpose that Pilgrims might see before them : 
up there, therefore, Christian went, and looking forward, he saw 
Faithful before him upon his journey. Then said Christian aloud, 
Ho, ho ! so, ho ! Stay, and I will be your companion. At that 
Faithful looked behind him; to whom Christain cried again, Stay, 
stay, till I come up to you. But Faithful answered. No ; I am 
upon my life, and the Avenger of Blood is behind me. 

At this Christian was somewhat moved, and 
putting to all his strength, he quickly got up with ^^H Faithfur* 
Faithful, and did also overrun him ; so the last was 
first. Then did Christian vain-gloriously smile, because he had 
votten the start of his brother : but, not taking good heed to his 



136 • pilgrim's progress. 

feet, he sudtlenly stumbled and fell, and could not rise again, untL 

Faithful came up to help him. 
Christian's fall Then I saw in my dream they went very lor- 
makes Faithful ingly on together, and had sweet discourse of all 
and he go lov- things that had happened to them in their pilgrim- 
ingiy together. ^^^ . ^^^ ^^^^ Christian began :- 

Chr. My honoured and well-beloved brother Faithful, I am glad 
that I have overtaken you, and that God has so tempered our spirits, 
that we can walk as companions in this so pleasant a path. 

Faith. I had thought, dear friend, to have had your company 
quite from our town, but you did get the start of me ; wherefore I 
was forced to come thus much of the way alone. 

Chr. How long did you stay in the city of Destruction, before 
you set out after me on your pilgrimage ? 
^, . „ ^ Faith. Till I could stay no longer : for there 

Their talk about „ ^ n 

the country from ^^^ ^ great talk, presently alter you were gone out, 
whence they that our city would, in a short tune, with fire from 
came. Heaven, be burnt down to the ground. 

Chr. What ! did your neighbours talk so ? 

Faith. Yes, it was for a while in every body's mouth. 

Chr. What ! and did no more of them but you come out to escape 
the danger? 

Faith. Though there was, as I said, a great talk thereabout, yet 
I do not think they did firmly believe it ; for, in the heat of the 
discourse, I heard some of them deridingly speak of you, and of 
_ your desperate journey, (for so they called this your pilgrimage :) 
but I did believe, and do still, that the end of our city will be with 
fire and brimstone from above ; and therefore I have made my 
escape. 

Chr. Did you hear no talk of neighbour Pliable ? 

Faith. Yes, Christian, I heard that he had followed you till he 
came to the slough of Despond, where, as some said, he fell in ; 
but he would not be known to have so done ; but I am sure he was 
soundly bedabled with that kind of dirt. 

Chr. And what said the neighbours to him ? 
■nv V, Faith. He hath, since his going back, been held 

How Pliable was ,,...' i , ^^ n 

accounted of when greatly m derision, and that among all sorts oi 
he got home. people ; some do mock and despise hini, and scarce 

will any set him on work. He is now seven times worse than 
if he had never gone out of the city. 

Chr. But why should they be so set ag;ainst him, since they also 
despise the way that he forsook ? 

Faith. O. they say. Hang him ! he is a turn-coat, he was not 




The dog and sow. 



[The return of Pliable — derided by "all sorts of people."] 

true to his profession ! I think God has stirred up even his ene- 
mies to hiss at him, and make him a proverb, because he hath 
forsaken the way.* 

Chr. Had you no talk with him, before you came out ? 

Faith. I met him once in the streets, but he leered away on the 
other side, as one ashamed of what he had done j so I spake not 
to him. 

Chr. Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that man ; but 
now I fear he will perish in the overthrow of the 
city. For it has happened to him, according to the 
true proverb, " The dog is turned to his vomit again, and the sow 
that was washed to her wallowing in the mire."t 

Faith. These are my fears of him too j but who can hinder that 
which will be. 

Well,' neighbour Faithful, said Christian, let us leave him, and 
talk of things that more immediately concern ourselves. Tell me 
now what you have met with in the way as you came ; for I know 
you have met with some things, or else it may be writ for a wonder. 

Faith. I escaped the Slough that I perceived you fell into, and 
got up to the Gate without danger ; only I met 
with one whose name was Wanton^ that had like i^y wanton. 
to have done me a mischief. 

* Jer. xxix. IS, 19. + 2 Peter i'i. 22. 

137 1 2 



Faithful assaulted 



138 PILGaiM"'s PROGRESS. 

Clir. It is well you escaped her net j Joseph was hard put to it 
by her, and he escaped her as you did ; but it had like to have cost 
him his life.* But what did she do to you ? 

Faith. You cannot think (but that you know something) what 
a flattering tongue she had ; she lay at me hard to turn aside with 
her, promising me all manner of content. 

Chr. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a good con 
science, 

Faitk. You know that I mean all fleshly and carnal content. 

Chr. Thank God you have escaped her. The abhorred of the 
Lord shall fall into her ditch.j 

Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape her 
or no. 

Chr. Why, I trow you did not consent to her desire ? 

Faith. No, not to defile myself ; for I remembered an old writing 
that I had seen, which said, " Her steps take hold on hell ;"J so I 
shut mine eyes, because I would not be bewitched with her looks. § 
Then she railed on me, and I went on my way. 

Chr. Did you meet with no other assault as you came ? 

Faith. When I came to the foot of the hill called 
by Adam the first. Difficulty, I met with a very aged Man, who asked 
me what I was, and whither bound ? I told him 
that I was a Pilgrim going to the Celestial City. Then said the 
Old Man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow \ wilt thou be content 
to dwell with me for the wages that I shall give thee ? Then I 
asked him his name, and where he dwelt % He said his name was 
Adam the First, and that he dwelt in the town of Deceit. I asked 
him then what was his work, and what the wages that he would 
give ? He told me, that his work was many delights ; and his 
wages, that I should be his heir at last. I further askedihim, what 
house he kept, and what other servants he had ? So he told me, 
that his house was maintained with all the dainties of the world ; 
and that his servants were those of his own begetting. Then I 
asked him how many children he had ? He said that he had but 
three daughters, " The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and 
the pride of /i/e;"l| and that I should marry them, if I would. 
Then I asked, how long time he would have me live with him? 
And he told me as long as he lived himself. 

Chr. Well, and what conclusion came the Old Man and you to 
at last? 

Faith. Why, at first, I found myself somewhat inclinable to go 
with the Man, for I thought he spoke very fair; but looking in his 

• Gen. xxxix. 11-13 t Prov. xxii. 14. J Prov. v. 5. § Job xxxi. 1. 1 1 John ii. 16. 




[Moses ana unrist meeting Faitnful.l 

forehead, as I talked with hhn, I saw there written, '' Put off the 
Old Man with his deeds ^ 

Chr. And how then ? 

Faith. Then it came burning hot into my mind, whatever he 
said, and however he flattered, when he got me home to his house, 
he would sell me for a slave. So I bid him forbear to talk, for I 
would not come near the door of his house. Then he reviled me, 
and told me, that he would send such a one after me, that should 
make my way bitter to my soul. So I turned to go away from 
him ; but, just as I turned myself to go thence, I felt him take hold 
of my flesh, and give me such a deadly twitch back, that I thought 
he had pulled part of me after himself; this made me cry, O 
■wretched man ! So I went on my way up the hill.* 

Now, when I had got about half the way up, I looked behind 
me, and saw one coming after me, swift as the wind : so he over- 
took me just about the place where the settle stands. 

Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest me ; but, being 
overcome with sleep, I there lost this Roll out of my bosom. 

Faith. But, good brother, hear me out. So soon as the Man 
overtook me, he was but a word and a blow ; for down he knocked 
me, and laid me for dead. But, when I was a little come to myself 
' Rom vii. 24. 

139 



140 PILGRIM'S PROGRESr.. 

again, I asked him wherefore he served me so ? He said, because 
of my secret inclining to Adam the First ; and with that he struck 
me another deadly blow on the breast, and beat me down backward : 
so I lay at his foot as dead as before. When I came to myself 
again, I cried, have mercy; but he said, I know not how to show 
mercy ; and with that he knocked me down again. He had doubt- 
less made an end of me, but that one came by, and bid him forbear 

Chr. Who was that that bid him forbear. 

Faith. I did not know Him at first ; but, as he went by, I per- 
ceived the holes in his hands and in his side ; then I concluded that 
He was our Lord. 

The thunder of Chr. That man that overtook you was Moses. ' 
Moses. He spareth none, neither knoweth he how to show 

mercy to those that transgress his Law. 

Faith. I know it very well : it was not the first time that he has 
met with me. 'Twas he that came to me when I dwelt securely 
at home, and that told me he would burn my house over my head, 
if I stayed there. 

Clir. But did you not see the House that stood there on the 
top of the hill, on the side of which Moses met you ? 

Faith. Yes, and the Lions too, before I came at it ; but for the 
Lions, I think they were asleep, for it was about noon ; and because 
I had so much of the day before me, I passed by the porter, and 
came down the hill. 

Chr. He told me indeed that he saw you go by ; but I wish that 
you had called at the house ; for they would have showed you so 
many rarities, that you would scarce have forgot them to the day 
of your death. But pray tell me, did you meet nobody in the Valley 
of Humility? 

Faithful assaulted Faith. Yes, I met with one Discontent, who 
by Discontent, would willingly have persuaded me to go back 
again with him ; his reason was, for that Valley was altogether 
without Honour. He told me, moreover, that to go there was to 
disoblige all my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy, Self-conceit, Worldly- 
glory, with others, who he knew, as he said, would be very much 
offended, if I made such a fool of myself as to wade through this 
valley. 

Chr. Well, and how did you answer him ? 
Faithful's answer Faith. I told him, That although all these that 
to Discontent. he named might claim a kindred of me, and that 

rightly, (for indeed they were my relations according to the flesh,) 
yet, since I became a Pilgrim, they have disowned me, and I also 
have rejected them ; and therefore they were to me now no more 



pilgrim's progress. 141 

than if they had never been of my lineage. I told him, moreover, 
that, as to this Valley, he had quite misrepresented the thing; for, 
"before honour is humility, and a haughty spirit before a fall." 
Therefore, said I, I had rather go through this Valley to the honour 
that was so accounted by the wisest, than choose that which he 
esteemed most worthy of our affections. 

Chr. Met you with nothing else in that valley 1 

Faith. Yes, I met with Shame ; but of all the He is assaulted by 
men that I met with on my pilgrimage, he, I think, shame. 
bears the wrong name. The other would be said Nay after a little 
argumentation, and somewhat else; but this bold-faced Shame 
would never have done. 

Chr. Why, what did he say to you 1 

Faith. What! why, he objected against religion itself ; he said 
It was a pitiful, low, sneaking business for a man to mind religion : 
he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing ; and that 
for a man to watch over his words and ways, so as to tie up himself 
from that hectoring liberty that the brave spirits of the times ac- 
custom themselves unto, would make him the ridicule of the times. 
He objected also, that but few of the mighty, rich, or wise, were 
ever of my opinion ; nor any of them neither, before they were 
persuaded to be fools, and to be of a voluntary fondness to venture 
the loss of all, for nobody else knows what.* He, moreover, ob- 
jected the base and low estate and condition of those that were 
chiefly the Pilgrims of the times in which they lived ; also their 
ignorance and want of understanding in all natural science. Yea, 
he did hold me to it at that rate also about a great many more things 
than here I relate ; as, that it was a shame to sit whining and 
mourning under a sermon, and a shame to come sighing and groan- 
ing home; that it was a shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness 
for petty faults, or to make restitution where I have taken from 
any. He said also, that religion made a man grow strange to the 
great, because of a few vices, (which he called by finer names,) 
and made him own and respect the base, because of the same 
religious fraternity : and is not this, said he, a shame ? 

Chr. And what did you say to him ? 

Faith. Say 1 I could not tell what to say at first. Yea, he put 
me so to it, that my blood came up in my face : even this Shame 
fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off. But at last I began 
to consider, that that which is highly esteemed among men is had 
in abomination with God.t And I thought, again, this Shame 
tells me what men are ; but it tells me nothing what God, or the 

• 1 Cor. i. 26.— iii. 18, Phil. iii. 7, 9. John vii. 48. t Lul<;e xvi. 15. 



142 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

word of God, is. And I thought, moreover, that at the day of 
doom we shall not be doomed to death or life, according to the 
hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the wisdom and law 
of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God says is best, 
though all the men in the world are against it. Seeing, then, that 
God prefers his religion ; seeing God prefers a tender conscience ; 
seeing they that make themselves fools for the kingdom of Heaven 
are wisest, and that the poor man that loveth Christ is richer than 
the greatest man in the world that hates him ; Shame, depart, thou 
art an enemy to my salvation : shall I entertain thee against my 
sovereign Lord ? how then shall I look him in the face at his com^ 
ing ? * Should I now be ashamed of his ways and servants, how 
can I expect the blessing ? But indeed this Shame was a bold 
villain ; I could scarcely shake him out of my company ; yea, he 
would be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in the 
ear, with some one or other of the mfirmities that attend religion ; 
but at last I told him, that it was but in vain to attempt further in 
this business ; for those things that he disdained, m those did I see 
most glory ; and so at last I got past this importunate one. And 
when I had shaken him off, then I began to sing : — 

The trials that those men do meet withal, 
That are obedient to the heavenly call, 
Arc manifold, and suited to the flesh, 
And come, and come, and come again afresh : 
"That now, or some time else, we by them may 
Be taken, overcome, and cast away. 
O let the Pilgrims, let the Pilgrims then 
Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men. 

Chr. I am glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand this villain 
so bravely ; for of all, as thou sayest, I think he has the wrong 
name : for he is so bold as to follow us in the streets, and to attempt 
to put us to shame before all men; that is, to make us ashamed of 
that which is good ; but if he was not himself audacious, he would 
never attempt to do as he does : but let us still resist him ; for, 
notwithstanding all his bravadoes, he promoteththe fool, and none 
else. " The wise shall inherit gloiy (said Solomon,) but shame 
shall be the promotion of fools." f 

Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against Shame, that 
would have us to be valiant for truth upon the earth. 

Chr. You say true. But did you meet with nobody else in that 
Valley? 

Faith. No, not I ; for I had sunshine all the rest of the way 
tlirough that, and also through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. 



pilgrim's progress. 143 

Chr. 'Twas well for you; I am sure it fared far otherwise with 
me. I had, for a long season, as soon almost as I entered into that 
Valley, a dreadful combat with that foul fiend ApoUyon ; yea, I 
thought verily he would have killed me, especially when he got 
me down, and crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed 
me to pieces. For, as he threw me, my sword flew out of my 
hand : nay, he told me he was sure of me ; but I cried unto God, 
and He heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then 
I entered into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no 
light for almost half the way through it. I thought I should have 
been killed there over and over ; but at last day brake, and the sun 
rose, and I went through that which was behind with far more ease 
and quiet. 

Moreover, I saw in my dream, that, as they went on, Faithful, 
as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man, whose name is 
Talkative, walking at a distance beside them (for in this place 
there was room enough for them all to walk.) He Talkative describ- 
was a tall man, and something more comely at a ed. 
distance than at hand : to this man Faithful addressed himself m 
this manner : — 

Faith, Friend ! whither away ? are you going to the Heavenly 
Country ? 

Talk. I am going to the same place. 

Faith. That is well : then I hope we may have your good com- 
pany? 

Talk. With a very good will will I be your companion. 

Faith. Come on then, and let us go together, j-aithfai aud Taik- 
and let us spend our time in discoursing of things ative enter into dis- 
that are profitable. '^°"'^^«- 

Talk. To talk of things that are good, to me is very acceptable, 
with you or any other ; and I am glad that I have met with those 
that incline to so good a v^ork ; for, to speak the Taikative's dislike 
truth, there are but few who care thus to spend of bad discourse. 
their time, (as they are in their travels,) but choose much rather 
to be speaking of things to no profit ; and this hath been a trouble 
to me. 

Faith. That is indeed a thing to be lamented ; for what thing 
so worthy of the use of the tongue and mouth of men on earth, as 
are the things of the God of heaven ? 

Talk. I like you wonderful well ; for your sayings are full of 
conviction ; and I will add, what thing is so pleasant, and what so 
profitable, as to talk of the things of God ? What things so pleas- 
ant ? that is, if a man hath any delight in things that are won- 



144 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

aerful ; for instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the history or 
the mystery of things ; or, if a man doth love to talk of miracles, 
wonders, or signs, where shall he find things recorded so delightful, 
and so sweetly penned, as in the Holy Scripture ? 

Faith. That is true ; but to be profited by such things in our 
talk should be our chief design. 

Talk. That is it that I said ; for to talk of such things is most 

profitable ; for, by so doing, a man may get know- 

discours^e." "^ ledge of many things ; as of the vanity of earthly 

things, and the benefit of thmgs above. Thus in 

general : but, more particularly, by this a man may learn the 

necessity of the New Birth, the insufficiency of our works, the 

need of Christ's righteousness, &c. Besides, by this a man may 

learn what it is to repent, to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the 

like ; by this also a man may learn what are the great promises 

and consolations of the gospel to his own comfort. Farther, by this 

a man may learn to refute false opinions, to vindicate the truth, 

and also to instruct the ignorant. 

Faith. All this is true ; and glad am I to hear these things from you. 

Talk. Alas ! the want of this is the cause that so few understand 
the need of faith, and the necessity of a work of grace in their soul, 
in order to eternal life ; but ignorantly live in the works of the Law, 
by which a man can by no means obtain the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Faith. But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge of these is the 
gift of God ; no man attaineth to them by human industry, or only 
by the talk of them. 

Talk. All that I know very well : for a man can 

O brave Talkative. . , . . •; • i • /- 

receive nothing, except it be given him Irom 
Heaven ; all is of grace, not of works : I could give you a hun- 
dred scriptures for the confirmation of this. 

Well then, said Faithful, what is that one thing that we shall 
at this time found our discourse upon ? 

^ „ . Talk. "What you will : I will talk of things 

O brave Talkative. . . . ^ i , , • ^ ^ - 

heavenly, or things earthly ; things moral, or things 
evangelical ; things sacred, or things profane ; things past, or 
things to come ; things foreign, or things at home ; things more 
essential, or things circumstantial ; provided that all be done to 
our profit. 

Now did Faithful begin to wonder ; and step- 
y TSkativ?™^'"^ ping to Christian, (for he walked all this while by 

himself,) he said to him, but softly. What a brave 
companion we have got ? Surely this man will make a very ex- 
cellent Pilgrim. 



FILGRlM'rf I'KOGRESS. 145 

At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, christian makes a 
This man, with whom you are so taken, will discovery of Talk- 
beguile, with this tongue of his, twenty of them ^^^^^' ^^^""s Faith- 

^, ° , ' , . ^ ° ' ^ ful who he was 

that know hmi not. 

Faith. Do you know him then ? 

Oir. Know him ! yes, better than he knows himself. 

Faith. Pray, what is he ? 

Chr. His name is Talkative ; he dwelleth in our town : I wonder 
that you should be a stranger to him, only I consider that our town 
is large. 

Faith. Whose son is he, and whereabout doth he dwell ? 

Chr. He is the son of one Say-well 3 he dwelt in Prating-row, 
and he is known to all that are acquainted with him by the name 
of Talkative of Prating-row ; and, notwithstanding his fine tongue, 
he is but a sorry fellow. 

Faith. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man. 

Ch7\ That is to them that have not a thorough acquaintance 
with him ; for he is best abroad 5 near home he is ugly enough. 
Your saying that he is a pretty man brings to my mind what I 
have observed in the work of the painter, whose pictures show best 
at a distance ; but, very near, more unpleasing. 

Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because you 
smiled. 

Chr. God forbid that I should jest (though I smiled) in this 
matter, or that I should accuse any falsely ! I will give you a 
further discovery of him. This man is for any company, and for 
any talk : as he talketh now v^ith you, so will he talk when he is 
on the ale-bench ; and the more drink he hath in his crown, the 
more of these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath no place 
in his heart, or house, or conversation ; all he hath is in his tongue, 
and his religion is to make a noise therewith. 

Faith. Say you so ? Then am I in this man greatly deceived. 

Chr. Deceived ! you may be sure of it. Remember the proverb, 
** They say and do not ;" but " the kingdom of God 

. ■ J 1, i • t-i-k. TT 4. ^^ 4^x. c Talkative talks, but 

13 not m word, but m power."* He talketh 01 jj^ggj^^,. 

Prayer, of Repentance, of Faith, and of the New 

Birth ; but he knows but only to talk of them. I have been m his 

family, and have observed him both at home and abroad ; and I 

know what I say of him is the truth. His house 

is as empty of religion as the white of an egg is His house is empty 

o mi ? 1 • 1 • of religion. 

of savour. There is there neither prayer nor sign 

of repentance for sin ; yea, the brute, in his kind, serves God far 

* Matth. xjciii. 3. 1 Cor, iv. 20. 

13 



146 pilgrim's i'rogkess. 

better than he. He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of reli 
gion to all that know him ; it can hardly have a good word in all 
that end of the town where he dwells, through him * Thus say 

the common people that know him, " A saint abroad, 
"^otsofhim^ "'^^ ^^d ^ ^^^^1 ^* home!" His poor family finds 

it so ; he is such a churl, such a railer at, and so 
unreasonable with his servants, that they neither know how to do 

for, or to speak to him. Men that have any deal- 
Men shun to deal -^ ^^-^^^ j^.^ u j^ ^g bg^ter to deal with a 

with mm. » •' ' , T 1 1 11 

Turk than with him ; for fairer dealmgs they shall 

nave at their hands." This Talkative, if it be possible, will go 
'>eyond them, beguile and over-reach them. Besides, he brings up 
rns sons to follow his steps ; and if he finds in any of them a fool- 
ish timorousness, (for so he calls the first appearance of a tender 
conscience,) he calls them fools and blockheads, and by no means 
will employ them in much, or speak to their commendation before 
o«;hers. For my part, I am of opinion that he has, by his wicked 
ife, caused many to stumble and fall ; and will be, if God prevents 
'bit, the ruin of many more. 

Faith. Well, my brother, I am bound to believe you; not only 
■lecause you say you know him, but because like a Christian, you 
.iiake your reports of men. For I cannot think that you speak these 
:iiings of ill-will, but because it is even so as you say. 

Chr. Had I known him no more than you, I might perhaps have 
:r«.ouglit of him as at the first you did ; yea, had he received this 
i'cjport at their hands only that are enemies to religion, I should 
aave thought it had been a slander, (a lot that oft falls from bad 
xien's mouths upon good men's names and professions ;) but all 
•;aese things, yea, and a great many more as bad, of my own know- 
ledge, I can prove him guilty of. Besides, good men are ashamed 
if him; they can neither call him brother nor friend; the very 
aaming of him among them makes them blush, if they knew him. 

Faith. Well, I see that sayirig and doing are two things ; and 
lereafter I shall better observe this distinction. 

Chr. They are two things indeed, and are as diverse as are the 
soul and the body : for as the body, without the 
iifion * ^ soul, is but a dead carcass : so saying^ if it be alone, 

is but a dead carcass also. The soul of religion is 
ae practick part : '' Pure religion and undefiled, before God and 
ae Father, is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their afllic- 
lon, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." This Talk- 
itive is not aware of; he thinks that hearing and saying will make 

* Rom. ii. 21, 2-3, 



pilgrim's progress 147 

a good Christian, and thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing 
is but as the sowing of the seed; talking is not sufficient to prove 
that fruit indeed is in the heart and life; let us assure ourselves 
that, at the day of doom, men shall be judged according to their 
fruit. It will not be said then. Did you believe ? but were you 
doers or talkers only? and accordingly shall they be judged. The 
End of the World is compared to our harvest ; and you know men 
at harvest regard nothing but fruit. Not that any thing can be 
accepted that is not of Faith ; but I speak this to show you 
how insignificant the profession of Talkative will be at that 
day.* 

Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by which he de- 
scribeth the beast that is clean. He is such a one that parteth the 
hoof, and cheweth the cud ; not that parteth the hoof only, or that 
cheweth the cud only. The hare cheAveth the cud, but yet is un- 
clean, because he parteth not the hoof.f And this paithfui convinced 
truly resembleth Talkative. He cheweth the cud ; of the badness of 
he seeketh knoAvledge, he cheweth upon the word ; Talkative. 
but he divideth not the hoof, he parteth not with the way of sinners ; 
but, as the hare, he retaineth the foot of a dog or bear, and there- 
fore he is unclean. 

Chr. You have spoken, for aught I know, the true gospel sense 
of these texts. And I will add another thing : Talkative like two 
Paul calleth some men, yea, and those great talk- things that sound 
ers too, " sounding brass and tinkling cymbals ;" ""Without life, 
that is, as he expounds them in another place, "things without 
life, giving sound;" things without life, that is, without the tine 
faith and grace of the Gospel ; and, consequently, things that shall 
never be placed in the Kingdom of Heaven among those that are 
the Children of Life ; though their sound, by their talk, be as it 
were the tongue or voice of an angel.| 

Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at first, but I am 
as sick of it now. What shall we do to be rid of him ? 

Chr. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you shall find 
that he will soon be sick of your company too, except God shall 
touch his heart and turn it. 

Faith. What would you have me do ? 

Chr. Why, go to him, and enter into some serious discourse 
about the poicer of religion; and ask him plainly, (when he has 
approved of it, for that he will,) whether this thing be set up in his 
heart, house, or conversation 7 

'. Tames i. 27. See verse 2, 3, 21, 26. See Malth, xxiii. 2. t Levit. xi Deut. xiv. 
t I Cor. xiii. 1-3. clia]) xiv. 7. 



14S pilgrim's progress. 

Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said to Talkative, 
Come, what cheer, how is it now ? 

Talk. Thank you, well. I thought we should have had a great 
deal of talk by this time. 

Faith. Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and smce you 
left it with me to state the question, let it be this : How doth the 
savmg grace of God discover itself when it is in the heart of man 1 
raikative's false Talk. I perceive then that our talk must be about 
discovery of a the powev of things. Well, it is a very good ques- 
work of grace. ^-jq^ ^nd I shall be willing to answer you, and take 
my answer in brief, thus: First, Where the grace of God is in the 
leart, it causeth there a great outcry against sin. Secondly 

Faith. Nay, hold : let us consider of one at once. I think you 
ihould rather say, it shows itself, by inclining the soul to abhor 
ts sin. 

Talk. Why, wliat difference is there between ciymg out agamst 
md abhorring of sin ? 

I'he crying out Faith. Oh ! a great deal. A man may cry out 
. gainst sin no sign against sin of policy ; but he cannot abhor it but by 
grace. virtue of a godly antipathy against it. I have heard 

nany cry out against sin in the pulpit, who yet can abide it well 
mough in the heart, house, and conversation. Joseph's mistress 
•ried out with a loud voice, as if she had been very chaste; but she 
vould willingly, notwithstanding that, have committed unclean- 
less with him.* Some cry out against sin even as a mother cries 
)ut against her child in her lap, when she calleth it slut and naughty 
iirl, and then falls to hugging and kissing it. 

Talk. You lie at the catch, I perceive. 

Faith. No, not I! I am only for setting things right. But what 
5 the second thing whereby you would prove a discovery of a 
=vork of grace in the heart ? 

Talk. Great knowledge of gospel mysteries. 

Faith. This sign should have been first ; but, first or last, it is 
Jreat knowledge also false : for knowledge, great knowledge, may 
)o sign of grace. be obtained in the mysteries of the gospel, and yet 
10 work of Grace in the soul : yea, if a man have all knowledge, 
le may yet be nothing, and so consequently be no child of Grod. 
When Christ said, "Do you know all these things?" and the dis- 
jiples had answered, " Yes," he added, " Blessed are ye, if ye 
io them." He doth not lay the blessing in the knowledge of 
'hem, but in the doing of them ; for there is a knowledge that is 
not attended with doing: "He that knoweth his Master's will. 

* Gen. xxiix. 15. 



pilgrim's PH0GRES3. 14!J 

and doth it not." A man may know like an ange^, Knowledge, ami 
and yet be no Christian ', therefore your sign of it knowledge. 
is not true. Indeed, to knoio is a thing that pleaseth talkers and 
boasters ; but to do is that which pleaseth God : Not that the heart 
can be good without knowledge ; for, without that, the heart is 
naught. There are therefore two sorts of knowledge : knowledge 
that resteth in the bare speculation of things, and knowledge that 
is accompanied with the grace of faith and love, True knowied<^e 
which puts a man upon doing even the will of God attended with en- 
from the heart. The first of these will serve the deavours. 
talker; but, without the other, the true Christian is not content, 
" Give me understanding, and I shall keep thy law ; yea, I shall 
observe it with my whole heart."* 

Talk. You lie at the catch again : this is not for edification. 

Faith. Well, if you please, propound another sign how this work 
of grace discovereth itself where it is. 

Talk. Not I ; for I see we shall not agree. 

Faith. Well, if you will not, will you give me leave to do it ? 

Talk. You may use your liberty. 

Faith. A work of grace in the soul discovereth itself either to 
him that hath it, or to standers by. f To him that one good sign of 
hath it, thus : it gives him conviction of sin, espe- grace. 
cially the defilement of his nature, and the sin of unbelief (for the 
sake of which he is sure to be damned, if he findeth not mercy at 
God's hand, by faith in Jesus Christ.) This sight and sense of 
things worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin. He findeth,- 
moreover, revealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the ab- 
solute necessity of closing with him for life ; at the which he 
findeth hungerings and thirstings after him; to which hungerings, 
&c., the promise is made. Now, according to the strength and 
weakness of his faith in his Saviour, so is his joy and peace, so is 
his love to holiness, so are his desires to know him more, and also 
Co serve him in this world. But, though I say it discovereth itself 
thus unto him, yet it is but seldom he is able to conclude that this 
is a v/ork of grace, because his corruptions now, and his abused 
reason, make his mind to misjudge in this matter. Therefore, in 
him that hath this work, there is required a very sound judgment, 
before he can with steadiness conclude that this is a work of grace. 

To others it is thus discovered : 1. By an experimental confes- 
sion of faith in Christ. % 2. By a life answerable to that confes- 

* Psalm cxix. 34. 

\ John xvi. 8. Rom. vii. 24. Mark x\'i. 16. Psalm xxxviii. 18. Jer. xxxi. 19. Gal. 
li. 15. Rev. 1. 6, &c X Rom. x. 10. 

13* 



loO FILGUlM'ri PROGRESS. 

sion ; * to wit, a life of holiness, heart-liolmess ; family-holiness, 
if he hath a family ; and by conversation-holiness in the world ; 
which, in the general, teacheth him mwardly to abhor his sin, and 
himself for that, in secret ; to suppress it in his family, and to 
promote holiness in the world, not by talk only, as a hypocrite 
or talkative person may do, but by a practical subjection in faith 
and love to the power of the word, f And now, sir, as to this brief 
description of the work of grace, and also the discovery of it, if you 
have aught to object, object; if not, then give me leave to pjjo- 
pound to you a second question. 

Talk. Nay, my part is not now to object, but to hear. Let me 
therefore have your second question. 

Faith. It is this : Do you experience this first part of the de- 
A^nother good sign scription of it, and doth your life and conversation 
of grace. testify the same ? Or standeth your religion in 

word or tongue, and not in deed and truth ? Pray, if you incline 
to answer me in this, say no more than you know the God above 
will say Amen to, and also nothing but what your conscience can 
justify you in : " For not he that commendeth himself is approved, 
but whom the Lord commendeth." Besides, to say I am thus and 
thus, when my conversation and all my neighbours tell me I lie, 
is great wickedness. 

Then Talkative at first began to blush; but recovering himself, 
he thus replied : You come now to experience, to conscience, and 
God ; and to appeal to him for justification of what is spoken. 
Talkative not pleas- This kind of discourse I did not expcct ; nor amldis- 
ed with Faitiiful's posed to give an answer to such questions, because 
question. j ^Q^^^ ^q^ myself bound thereto, unless you take 

upon you to be a catechiser : and though you should so do, yet I 
may refuse to make you my judge. But, I pray, will you tell me 
why you ask me such questions ? 

The reason why Faith. Because I saw you forward to talk, and 
Faithful put him to because I knew not that you had aught else but 
that question. notion. Besides, to tell you the truth, I have heard 

of you, that you are a man whose religion lies in talk, and that 
your conversation gives this your mouth-profession the lie. They 
Faithful's plain ^^Y 7°^ ^^^ ^ ^P°^ among Christians, and that re- 
deaiing with Talk- ligion fareth the worse for your ungodly conversa- 
^tive. tion ; that some have already stumbled at your 

wicked ways ; and that more are in danger of being destroyed 
thereby. Your religion, and an alehouse, and covetousness, and 
uncleanness, and swearing, and lying, and vain company-keeping, 

• Pliil. i. 27. t Matth. V. 9. Psalm 1. 20. John xiii. 5, 6. 



f-'lLGRIM'ri Pf?OGItESS 151 

etc., will stand together. The proverb is true of you whicli is said 
of a whore, viz. : " That she is a shame to all women !" so are you 
a shame to all professors. 

Talk. Since you are so ready to take up re- ^ „ . 

. / , , ■' ^ ^ ^ Talkative flmss 

jwrts, and to judge so rashly as you do, I cannot away from Faiih 
but conclude you are some peevish or melancholic f»i. 
man, not fit to be discoursed with ; and so Adieu ! 

Then came up Christian, and said to his brother, I told you how 
It would happen ; your words and his lusts could not agree. He 
had rather leave your company than reform his life. 

„,. x-111- Ti .A good nddanci 

But he IS gone, as I said ; let him go ; the loss is 
no man's hut his own ; he has saved us the trouble of going frojh 
him ; for he continuing (as I suppose he will do) as he is, he 
would have been but a blot in our company ; besides, the Apostle 
says, " From such withdraw thyself." 

Faith. But I am giad we had this little discourse with him ; it 
may happen that he will think of it again : however, I have dealt 
plainly with him, and so am clear of his blood, if he perisheth. 

Chr. You did well to talk so plainly as you did. There is but 
little of this faithful dealing with men now-a-days, and that makes 
religion to stink in the nostrils of so many as it doth ; for they are 
these talkative fools whose religion is only in word, and are de- 
bauched and vain in their conversation, that (being so mucii 
admitted into the fellowship of the godly) do puzzle the world, 
blemish Christianity, and grieve the sincere, I wish that all men 
would deal with such as you have done ; then should they either 
be made more conformable to religion, or the company of saints 
would be too hot for them. 

Then did Faithful say : — 

How Talkative at first lifts up his plumes ! 
How bi-avely doth he speak ! How he presumes 
To drive down all before him ! But so soon 
As Faithful talks of heart-tcork, like the moon 
That's past the full, into the wane he goes ; 
And so will all but he that heai-t-icork knows. 



Thus they went on, talking of what they had seen by the way ; 
and so made that way easy, which would otherwise, no doubt, have 
been tedious to them for now they went through a Wilderness. 

Now, when they were almost quite out of this Wilderness, Faith- 
ful chanced to cast his eye back, and espied one coming after them ; 
and he knew him. Oh ! said Faithful to his brother, who comes 
yonder ? Then Christian looked, and said, It is my good friend 



152 pilgrim's PR0GK1]S3. 

Evangelist. Ay, and my good friend too, said 
fars^fhem. ''""" faithful; for it was he that set me on the way to 
the Gate. Now was Evangelist come up unto 
them, and thus saluted them : — 

Evan. Peace be to you, dearly beloved, and peace be to your 
helpers. 

Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist ; 
theTi-ht o/htm.^* ^^^ ^^°^^^ °^ ^^y countenance brings to my remem- 
brance thy ancient kindness, and unwearied labours 
for thy eternal good. 

And a thousand times welcome, said good Faithful ; thy com- 
pany, O sweet Evangelist, how desirable is it to us poor pilgrims ! 

Then said Evangelist, How hath it faxed with you, my friends, 
since the time of our last parting 7 What have you met with, and 
how have you behaved yourselves ? 

Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things that had hap- 
pened to them on the way, and how, and with what difficulty, they 
had arrived to that place. 

Pvight glad am I, said Evangelist, not that yon 
them!'^ *^^^a*'°" t*^ have met with trials, but that you have been vic- 
tors ; and for that you have, notwithstanding many 
weaknesses, continued in the way to this very day. 

I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for mine own sake 
and yours. I have sowed, and you have reaped ; and the day is 
coming, when both he that sowed and they that reaped shall rejoice 
together ; that is, if you hold out : for in due time ye shall reap, 
if ye faint not. The crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible 
one: so run, that you may obtain it ! Some there be that set out 
for this crown, and, after they have gone far for it, another comes 
in and takes it from them. Hold fast, therefore, that you have j 
let no man take youi' crown. You are not yet out of the gunshot 
of the devil ; you have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against 
sin. Let the kingdom be always before you, and believe stead- 
fastly concerning things that are invisible. Let nothing that is on 
this side the other world get within you ; and, above all, look well 
to your own hearts, and to the lusts thereof; for they are deceitful 
above all things, and desperately wicked. Set your faces like a 
flint ; you have all power in heaven and earth on your side.* 
Tiiey do thank him Then Christian thanked him for his exhortation , 
for his exhona- but told him withal, that they would have him 
^'""'5- speak farther to them for their help the rest of the 

way ; and the rather, for that they well knew that he was a Prophet, 

' John iv. 36. Gal. vi. 9. 1 Gov. ix. 24, 27. Rav. iii. II. 



pilgrim's progress. 153 

and could tell them of things that might happen unto them, and 
also how they might resist and overcome them : to which request 
Faithful also consented. So Evangelist began as followeth : — 

My sons, you have heard in the words of the 
truth of the gospel that you must, through many "oubfet^hty Thin 
tribulations, enter into the kingdom of Heaven, meet with in Van- 
And again, that, in every city, bonds and afflictions i'y-Fair, and en- 
abide you ; and therefore you cannot expect that steadfastness!™ 
you should long go on your pilgrimage without 
them, in some sort or other. You have found something of t < 
truth of these testimonies upon you already, and more will immi' 
diately follow ; for now, as you see, you are almost out of thiv 
wilderness, and therefore you will soon come into a Town tha 
you will by-and-by see before you 5 and in that Town you will b« 
hardly beset with Enemies, who will strain hard but they will kil 
you ; and be you sure that one or both of you must seal the test] 
mony which you hold, with blood ; but be you faithful unto death 
and the King will give you a Crown of Life. He „ 

, „ ,. 1 11 11- 1 1 -n 1 He whose lot it mj 

that shall die there, although his death will be un- be there to suffei 
natural, and his pain perhaps great, will yet have win have the bette 
the better of his fellow; not only because he will °^ bis brother. 
be arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but because he will escapt 
many miseries that the other will meet with in the rest of his- 
journey. But when you are come to the Town, and shall fine 
fulfilled what I have here related, then remember your friend, anr 
quit yourselves like men, and commit the keeping of your souls t( 
God in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator. 

Then I saw in my dream that, when they were got out of tht 
Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before them, and thenam< 
of that Town is Vanity ^ and at the Town there is a fair kepi 
called Vanity -fair ; it is kept all the year long; it beareth tht 
name of Vanity-fair, because the Town where it is kept is lighten 
than vanity ; and also because all that is there sold, or that cometi 
thither, is vanity : as is the saying of the wise, " All that cometi 
is vanity."* 

This Fair is no new-erected business, but a 
thing of ancient standing. I will show you the J^i^s Farn*^"'^^ °^ 
original of it. Almost five thousand years ago, 
there were pilgrims walking to the Celestial City, as these twt 
honest persons are ; and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, wit} 
their companions, perceiving by the path that the Pilgrims made 
that their way to the City lay through this Town of Vanity, they 

• Isaiah xl. 17. EccI i. 2.-i). 11 17. 




[Evangelist pointing out Vanity -Fair.] 



The merchandise 
of this Fair. 



contrived here to set up a Fair ; a Fair wherein should be sold aU 
sorts of vanity, and that it should last all the yeai 
long. Therefore, at this fair, are all such mer 
chandise sold, as houses, lands, trades, places, hon- 
ours, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures, and 
delights of all sorts ; as whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, 
masters, servants, lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, 
precious stones, and what not. 

And, moreover, at this Fair, there is at all times to be seen, 
jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and rogues, 
and that of every kind. 

Here are to be seen too, and that for nothing, thefts, murders, 
adulteries, false swearers, and that of a blood-red colour. 

And as, in other Fairs of less moment, there are several rows 
and streets, under their proper names, where such and such wares 
are vended, so here likewise you have the proper places, rows 
streets, (viz. countries and kingdoms,) where the 
wares of this Fair are soonest to be found. Here 
IS the Britain Row, the French Row, the Italian 
Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row, where several sorts of 
Vanities are to be sold. But as, in other Fairs, some one com- 
modity is the chief of all the fair, so the Avare of Rome, and her 

\r)-\ 



The streets of this 
Fair. 



PIIXiiaM'ri PRtjGRESM. i.')5 

merchandis'/, is greatly prornuted in this laii ; only our Ei g.'jsn 
nation, with some others, have taken a dislike thereat. 

Now, as I said, .the way to the Celestial City lies just tbougii 
this Town Avhere this lusty Fair is kept ; and he that wou d go 
to the City, and yet not go through this Town, must needs go o'ji 
of the World. The Prince of princes himself, Christ wem 
when, here, went through this Town to his own through this fair. 
Country, and that upon a Fair-day too : yea, and as I think, i was 
Beelzebuh, the chief lord of this fair, that invited him to biiV of 
his Vanities; yea, would have made him Lord of the Fair, vculd 
he but have done him reverence as he went through the T' Avn ) 
yea, because he was such a Person of Honour, Beelzebub liaci him 
from street to street, and showed him all the kingdoms of the 
world in a little time, that he might, if possible, allure that blessed 
One to cheapen and buy some of his vanities : but Christ bought no- 
he had no mind to the merchandise, and therefore thing in this Fair, 
left the Town, without laying out so much as one farthing upon 
these vanities. This Fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of li>ng 
stand-ing and a very great Fair.* 

Now, these Pilgrims, as I said, must needs go The pilgrim semei 
through this Fair. "Well, so they did ; but behold, the Fair. TncFsor 
even as they entered into the Fair, all the people '" ^ hubbu k. sbwi 
in the Fair were moved, and the Town itself, as it ^^™' 
were, in a hubbub about them, and that for several reasons ; tm. 

First, The Pilgrims were clothed with such kind The first csnseof 
of raiment as was diverse from the raiment of any ^^ hubbub, 
that traded in that Fair. The people, therefore, of the Fair, made 
a great gazing upon them. Some said they were fools: some 
they were bedlams ; and some, they were outlandish men."} 

Secondly, And as they wondered at their apparel. The second eaKst 
so they did likewise at their speech ; for few could o^the hubbub 
understand what they said ; they naturally spoke the language 
of Canaan, but they that kept the Fair were the Men of this Worlds 
so that, from one end of the Fair to the other, they seemed barfog* 
rians each to the other. 

Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse Third cause <w tae 
the merchandisers was, that these Pilgrims set very hubbub, 
light by all their wares ; they cared not so much as to look upon 
them ; and if they called upon them to buy, they would put their 
fingers in their ears, and cry, " Turn away mine eyes from be- 
holding vanity ;" and look upward, signifying that their trade and 
traffic was in heaven. 

* \ Cor. V. 10. Matth. vii, 8 Luke iv. 5-7 1 1 Cor. ii. 7, 8. 



Fourth cause of One clianced mockingly, beholding the carriage 
the imbbub. of the men, to say unto them, " What will ye buy ?" 

But they, looking gravely upon him, said, " We buy the truth.^^* 
At that there was an occasion taken to despise the men the more ; 
some mocking, some taunting, some speaking re- 
ey aro moc e . pj.Qa(.}jfyl}y^ and some calling upon others to smite 
them. At last, things came to a hubbub and great stir in the 
Fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was word 
presently brought to the Great One of the Fair, who quickly came 
down, and deputed some of his most trusty friends to take those 
They are examin- men into examination, about whom the Fair was 
ed. almost overturned. So the Men were brought to 

examination; and they that sat upon them asked, Whence they 
came ? whither they went ? and what they did there in such an 
They tell who they unusual garb? The Men told. them that they were 
are and whence Pilgrims and Strangers in the World, and that they 
they came. were going to their own country, which was the 

Heavenly Jerusalem , and that they had given no occasion to the 
Men of the Town, nor yet to the merchandisers, thus to abuse 
them, and to let them in their journey; except it was for that, 
when one asked them what they would buy, they said they would 
They are not be- " buy the truthP^ But they that were appointed lo 
lieved. examine them did not believe them to be any other 

than Bedlams and mad, or else such as came to put all things into 
They are taken for a confusion in the Fair. Therefore they took them 
madmen, and put and beat them, and besmeared them with dirt, and 
in the cage. - ^^^^ p^^ ^^^^ -^^^ ^^iq cage, that they might be 
made a spectacle to all the men of the Fair. There, therefore, 
they lay for some time, and were made the objects of any man's 
sport, or malice, or revenge, the Great One of the Fair laughing 
Their behaviour Still at all that befell them. But the Men being pa- 
in the cage. tieiit, and not rendering railing for railing, but con- 
trariwise blessing, and giving good words for bad, and kindness 
for injuries done, some men in the Fair, that were more observing 
and less prejudiced than the rest, began to check and blame the 
baser sort for their continual abuses done by them to the Men 
they, therefore, in angry manner, let fly at them again, counting 
them as bad as the Men in the Cage, and telling them that they 
seemed confederates, and should be made partakers of their mis- 
fortunes. The others replied, that, for ought they could see, the 
Men were quiet and sober, and intended nobody any harm ; and 
that there were many that traded in their Fair that were more 

* Prov. xxiii. 23. \ Heb. xi. 13-16. 



t^ll.GiilM'S FKOGiiC-S. 157 

worthy to be put into the Cage, yea, and pillory too, than were the 
Men that they had abused. Thus, after divers words had passed 
on both sides, (the Men behaving themselves all the while very 
wisely and soberly before them,) they fell to some They are made the 
blows among themselves, and did harm one to authors of this dis- 
another. Then were these two poor men brought t^^'^^"*^^- 
before their examiners again, and were charged as being guilty of 
the late hubbub that had been in the Fair. So they j,^ ^^^ ^^^ 
beat them pitifully, and hanged irons upon them, and down the Fai^ 
and led them in chains up and down the Fair, for inciiains,for ater- 
an example and terror to others, lest any should 
speak in their behalf, or join themselves unto them. But Christian 
and Faithful behaved themselves yet more wisely, and received 
the ignominy and shame that was cast upon them ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^j^^ 
with so much meekness and patience, that it won Fair won over to 
to their side (though but few m comparison of the t^e^^- 
rest) several of the men in the Fair. This put the other party yet 
mto a greater rage, insomuch that they concluded the death of 
these two men. Wherefore they threatened that rpj^^j^ adversaries 
neither cage nor irons should serve their turn, but resolve to kill 
that they should die for the abuse they had done, ^^^™- 
and for deluding the men of the Fair. 

Then were they remanded to the Cage again. They are again put 
until further order should be taken with them. So Serwd'^roughl 
they put them in, and made their feet fast in the to trial, 
stocks. 

Here, therefore, they called again to mind what they had heard 
from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were the more confirmed 
in their way and sufferings by what he told them would happen to 
them. They also now comforted each other, that whose lot it was 
to suffer, even he should have the best on 't ; therefore each man 
secretly wished that he might have the preferment ; but commit- 
ting themselves to the all-wise disposal of Him that ruleth all 
things, with much content they abode in the condition in which 
they were, until they should be otherwise disposed of. 

Then a convenient time being appointed, they brought them 
forth to their trial, in order to their condemnation. When the time 
was come, they were brought before their enemies, and arraigned. 
The Judge's name was Lord Hategood; their indictment was one 
and the same in substance, though somewhat varying in form j 
the contents whereof were these : — 

That they were enemies to and disturbers of r^^^gj^ indictment. 
the Trade: that they had made commotions and 
14 



153 PlLCl!!?.!':" l^RCK i KT-^S. 

divisions in tlie town, and had won a party to their own most dan- 
gevoas opinions, in contempt of the Law of their Prince. 
Faithful answers Then Faithful began to answer, That he had 
for hiQiseif. only set himelf against that which had set it- 

self against Him that is higher than the highest. And, said he, 
as for disturbance, I make none, being myself a man of peace; the 
Parties that were won to us were won by beholding our truth and 
innocence, and they are only turned from the worse to the better. 
And as to the King you talk of, since he is Beelzebub, the Enemy 
of our Lord, I defy him and all his Angels. 

Then proclamation was made, that they that had aught to say 
for their Lord the King against the prisoner at the bar should forth- 
with appear, and give in their evidence. So there came in three 
witnesses, to wit: Envy, Superstition, and Pickthank: They 
were then asked, if they knew the prisoner at the bar? and what 
they had to say for their Lord the King against him? Then stood 
^ ^ ^ forth Envy, and said to this effect ". My lord, I have 

nv^ egino. j^^own this man a long time, and will attest upon 
oath, before this honourable bench, that he is • 

Judge. Hold Give him his oath. 

So they sware him. Then he said. My Lord, this man, not- 
withstanding his plausible name, is one of the vilest men in our 
country ; he neither regardeth Prince nor people, Law nor custom ; 
but doth all that he can to possess all men with certain of his dis- 
loyal notions, which he, in the general, calls principles of faith 
and holiness. And, in particular, I heard him once myself affirm, 
that Christianity and the customs of our Town of Vanity were 
diametrically opposite, and could not be recon(iiled: by which 
saying, my Lord, he doth at once not only condemn all our laudable 
doings, but us in the doing of them. 

Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any more to say ? 

Envy. My Lord, I could say much more, only I would not be 
tedious to the Court ; yet, if need be, when the other gentlemen 
have given in their evidence, rather than any thing shall be want- 
ing that will despatch him, I will enlarge my testimony against 
him. So he was bid stand l3y. 

Then they called Superstition, and bid him look 
low?.'^^ ^ ^"" ° " upon the prisoner at the bar ; they also asked what 
he could say for their Lord the King against him ? 
Then they sware him ; so he began : — - 

Super. My Lord, I have no great acquaintance with this man, 
nor do I desire to have further knowledge of him ; however, this I 
know, that he is a very pestilent fellow, from some discourse that 



PILGRIM'S PRonnnt!?;. ]o9 

the other day I had with hhn in this town ; for then talking with 
dim, I heard him say, that our religion was naught, and such by 
which a man could by no means please God : which saying of his, 
my Lord, your Lordship very well knows what necessarily thence 
will follow, to wit, that we still do worship in vain, are yet in our 
sins, and finally shall be damned. And this is that which I have 
to say. 

Then was Pickthank sworn, and bid say what he knew, in be- 
half of their Lord the King, against the prisoner at the bar. 

Pick. My Lord, and you gentlemen all, this 
fellow I. have known of a long time, and have Jony'^" 
heard him speak things that ought not to be spoken ; 
for he hath railed on our noble Prince Beelzebub, and hath spoken 
contemptibly of his honourable friends, whose 
names are, the Lord Olclman, the Lord Carnal sins are all Lords, 

' ' and great ones. 

Delight, the Lord Luxurious, the Lord Desire of 
Vain Glory, my old Lord Letchery, Sir Having Greedy, with 
all the rest of our nobility ; and he hath said, moreover, that if all 
men were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of these noble- 
men should have any longer a being in this town. Besides, he 
hath not been afraid to rail on you, my Lord, who are now ap- 
pointed to be his Judge, calling you an ungodly villain, with many 
other such like vilifying terms, with which he hath bespattered 
most of the gentry of our town. 

When this Pickthank had told his tale, the Judge directed his 
speech to the prisoner at the bar, saying. Thou runagate, heretic, 
and traitor, hast thou heard what these honest gentlemen have 
witnessed against thee ? 

Faith. May I speak a few words in my own defence ? 

Judge. Sirrah, sirrah ! thou deservest to live no longer, but to 
be slain immediately upon the place ; yet, that all men may see 
our gentleness towards thee, let us hear what thou, vile Runagate, 
hast to say. 

Faith. 1. I say then, in answer to what Mr. 
Envy hath spoken, I never said aught but this, o?Mmsd/'^'""* 
That what rule, or laws, or custom, or people, 
were flat against the word of God, are diametrically opposite to 
Christianity. If I have said amiss in this, convince me of my 
error, and I am ready, here before you, to make my recantation. 

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and his charge 
against me, I said only this, That in the worship of God there is 
required a divine faith ; but there can be no divine faith without a 
divine revelation of the will of God. Therefore, whatever is thrust 



IGO pilgrim's progress. 

into the worship of God, that is not agreeable to divine revelation, 
cannot be done but by a human faith; which faith will not be prof- 
itable to eternal life. 

3. As to what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say, (avoiding terms, 
as that I am said to rail, and the like,) that the Prince of this town, 
with all the rabblemeut his attendants, by this gentleman named, 
are more fit to be in Hell than in this town and country ; and so 
the Lord have mercy upon me. 

Tiie Judcre's Then the Judge called to the Jury, (who all this 

speech to the while stood by to hear and observe:) Gentlemen 

'"^T- of the jury, you see this man, about whom so great 

an uproar hath been made in this town ; you have also heard what 
these worthy gentlemen have witnessed against him ; also you 
have heard his reply and confession. It lieth now in your breasts 
to hang him or save his life ; but yet I think meet to instruct you 
in our law. 

There was an act made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, ser 
vant to our Prince, that lest those of a contrary religion should 
multiply, and grow too strong for him, their males should be thrown 
into the river.* There was also an. act made in the days of Ne- 
buchadnezzar the Great, another of his servants, that whoever 
would not fall down and worship his Golden Image, should be 
thrown into a fiery furnace.f There was also an act made in the 
days of Darius, that whoso, for some time, called upon any god 
but him should be cast into the Lions' den.:}: Now, the substance of 
these laws this rebel hath broken, not only in thought, (which is 
not to be borne,) but also in word and deed ; which must therefore 
needs be intolerable. 

For that of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposition to 
prevent mischief, no crime being yet apparent ; but here is a crime 
apparent. For the second and third, you see he disputeth against 
our religion : and, for the treason that he hath already confessed, 
he deserveth to die the death. 

Then went the jury out, whose names were, 

namer^^""^^^''"' Mr. JBlindman, Mr. No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr, 

Love-lust, Mr. Live-loose, Mr. Heady, Mr. High- 

mind^ Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hate-light, and 

Mr. Implacable ; who every one gave in his private verdict against 

him among themselves, and afterward unanimously concluded to 

bring him in guilty before the Judge. And first, 

vateTerdicl^ ^^' among themselves, Mr. Blindman, the foreman, 

said, I see clearly that this man is a heretic. Then 

* Exod. i. t Dan. iii. X Dan. vi. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 161 

said Mr. No-good, Away Avith such a fellow from the earth. Ay, 
said Mr. Malice, for I hate the yery looks of him. Then said Mr. 
Love-lust, I could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose, 
for he would always be condemning my way. Hang him, hang 
him ( said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said Mr. High-mind. My 
heart riseth against him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said 
Mr. Liar. Hanging is too good for him, said Mr. Cruelty. Let 
us despatch him out of the way, said Mr. Hate-ligh^t, Then said 
Mr. Implacable, Might I have all the world given me, I could not 
be reconciled to him ; therefore let us forthwith rj,^ conclude to 
bring him in guilty of death. And so they did. bring him in guilty 
Therefore he was presently condemned to be had ^^ death, 
from the place "vvhere he was to the place from whence he came, 
and there to be put to the most cruel death that could be invented. 

They therefore brought him out to do with him according to 
their law" ; and first they scourged him, then they 
buffeted him, then they lanced his flesh with knives, ^^ paUhfui. 
after that they stoned him with stones, then pricked 
him with their swords, and last of all, they burnt him to ashes at 
the stake. Thus came Faithful to his end. 

Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude ^ chariot and her 
g. chariot and a couple of horses waiting for Faith- ses wait to take 
ful, who, (so soon as his adversaries had despatched ^^^^^ Faithful. 
him,) was taken up into it, and straightway was carried up through 
the clouds, with sound of trumpet, the nearest way to the Celestial 
Gate. 

But as for Christian, he had some respite, and 

I I 1 T / . 1 • -t Christian still a 

was remanded back to prison ; so he remamed prisoner. 
there for a space ; but he who overrules all things, 
having the power of their rage in his own hand, so wrought it 
about, that Christian for that time escaped them, and v/ent his way. 
And as he went he sang, saying : — 

Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully profess'd 

Unto thy Lord, v/ith whom thou shalt be bless'd ; The song that 

When faithless ones, with all their vain delights, Christian made of 

Are crying out under their hellish plights : Faithful after his 

Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive ; death- 

For, though they kill'd thee, thou art yet alive. 

Now I saw in my dream that Christian went 

^ p ^1 1 r ^T_ 1, Christian has an- 

r ot forth alone ; for there was one whose name ^^-^^^ companion. 
V. as Hopeful, (being so made by the beholding of 
Christian and Faithful in their words and behaviour in their suffer 
mgs at the Fair,) who joined himself unto him, and entering into 

' :4* 




[Faithful carried to Heaven] 

a orotherly covenant, told liim that he would be his companion. 
Thus one died to bear testimony to the truth, and another rises out 
There are more of ^^ ^^^ ashes to be a companion with Christian in 
the men in the Fair his pilgrimage. This Hopeful also told Chi-istian, 
will follow. 1)^0^1 there were many more of the men in the Fair 

that would take their time, and follow after. 

So I saw that, quickly after they were got out 
By-radsJ^'^ ^ ® of the Fair, they overtook one that was going be- 
fore them, whose name was By-ends ; so they said 
to him, What countryman, sir 1 and how far go you this way ? He 
told them that he came from the town of Fair-speech, and that he 
was going to the Celestial City: hut told them not his name. 

From Fair-speech, said Christian : is there any good that lives 
there ?* 

Yes, said By-ends, I hope. 

Pray, sir, what may I call you ? said Christian. 

By-ends. I am a stranger to you, and you to me : 
hi^s name.*^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ g^ii^o ^his way, I shall he glad of your 
company ; if not, I must be content. 

This town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have heard of; and 
as I remember, they say it's a wealthy place. 

• Prov. xxvi. 25. 

1G2 



f'ILGnF>i'.S PR0GRKS9. 1G3 

Ihj-ends. Yes, I will assure you that it is ; and 1 have very 
many rich kindred there. w 

Chr. Pray, who are your kindred there, if a man may be so hold ? 

By-ends. Almost the whole town ; but in particular, my Lord 
Turn-about, my Lord Time-server, my Lord Fair-speech, (from 
whose ancestors that town first took its name ;) also Mr. Smooth- 
man, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Anything; and the parson of 
our parish, Mr. Two-tongues, was my mother's own brother, by 
father's side ; and, to tell you the truth, I am become a gentleman 
of good quality ; yet my great-grandfather was but a waterman, 
looking one way, and rowing another; and I got most of my estate 
by the same occupation. 

Chr. Are you a married man ? 

By-ends. Yes ; and my wife is a very virtuous 

^1 1 1 . f» • ^ 1 The wife and kin 

woman, the daughter ot a vutuous woman; she dred of By-ends 
was my Lady Feigning's daughter ; therefore she 
came of a very honourable family, and is arriveri to such a pitch 
of breeding, that she knows how to carry it to ali, nven to Prince 
and peasant. 'Tis true, we somewhat differ in where By-end 
religion from those of the strictest sort ; yet but in differs from other* 
two small points : First, We never strive against ^" religion, 
wind and the tide. Secondly, We are always most zealous wher 
Religion goes m his silver slippers ; we love much to walk with 
him in the street, if the sun shines, and the people applaud him. 

Then Christian stepped a litrle dside to his fellow Hopeful, say- 
mg. It runs in my mind, that this is one By-ends of Fair-speech ; 
and, if it be he, we have as very a knave in our company as dwel- 
leth in all these parts. Then said Hopeful, Ask him ; methinks 
he should not be ashamed of his name. So Christian came up 
with him again, and said. Sir, you talk as if you knew something 
more than all the world doth ; and if I take not my mark amiss, I 
deem I have half a guess of you; is not your name Mr. By-ends 
of Fair-speech. ? 

By-ends. This is not my name ; but indeed it is a nickname 
that is given me by some that cannot abide me ; and I must be 
content to bear it as a reproach, as other good men have borne 
theirs before me, 

Chr. But did you never give an occasion to men to call you by 
this name ? 

By-ends. Never, never ! The worst that over I 

I'j ^ • xi • i • ^1 • How By-ends go 

did to give them an occasion to give me this name ^^^ ^^^^^ 

was, that I had always the luck to jump in my 

judgment with the present way of the times, whatever it was. and 



IG4 riLGRIM'.S PROGRESS. 

my chance was to get thereby ; but if things are thus cast upon 

me, let me count them a blessing ; but let not the malicious load 

me therefore with reproach. 

Chr. I thought, indeed, that you were the man that I heard of; 

and, to tell you what I think, I fear this name belongs to you more 

properly than you are willing we should think it doth. 

„ _, . . , By ends. Well, if you will thus imagine, I can- 

He desires to keep 11. -V7- 1 n n 1 r ■ 

company with rea- ^ot help it. You shall hnd me a iair company- 
««"• keeper, if you will still admit me your associate. 

Chr. If you will go with us, you must go against wind and tide ; 
the which, I perceive, is against your opinion : you must also own 
Religion in his rags, as well as when in his silver slippers ; and 
stand by him too when bound in irons, as well as when he walketh 
the streets with applause. 

By-ends. You must not impose nor lord it over my faith ; leave 
me to my liberty, and let me go with you. 

Chr. Not a step farther, unless you will do, in what I propound, 
as we. 

Then said By-ends, I shall never desert my old principles, since 

they are harmless and profitable. If I may not go 

parT"^ ^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ you, I must do as I did before you overtook 

me, even go by myself, until some overtake me 

that will be glad of my company. 

Now I saw in my dream, iha<. Christian and Hopeful forsook 
him, and kept their distance betore him ; but one of them looking 
back saw three men following Mi. By-ends ; and behold, as they 
came up with him, he m^ade them a very low congee, and they 
also gave him a compliment. The men's names 
"anions. "'"^ ''""'" ^^re, Mr. Hold-the-world, Mr. Money-love, and 
Mr. Save-all ; men that Mr. By-ends had formerly 
been acquainted with ; for, in their minority, they were school- 
fe lows, and were taught by one Mr. Gripeman, a schoolmaster in 
Love-gain, which is a market-town in the county of Coveting, in 
th(; north. This schoolmaster taught them the art of getting, 
either by violence, cozenage, flattery, lying, or by putting on a 
guise of i-eligion ; and these four gentlemen had attained much of 
the art of their master, so that they could each of them have kept 
such a school themselves. 

Well, when they had, as I said, thus saluted each other, Mr. 
Money-love said to Mr. By-ends, Who are they upon the road be- 
fore us ? for Christian and Hopeful were yet within view. 
By-ends' character By-ends. They are a couple of far countrymen 
of the pilgrims. tj^^t, after their mode, are going on pilgrimage. 



ffLGRIM's PROGRESS. 165 

Money-love. Alas ! why did they not stay, that we might have 
had their good company ; for they, and we, and you, sir, I hope, 
are all going on a pilgrimage. 

By-ends. We are so indeed ; bat the men before us are so rigid, 
and love so much their own notions, and do also so lightly esteem 
the opinions of others, that let a man be never so godly, yet, if he 
jumps not with them in all things, they thrust him quite out of 
their company. 

Mr. Save-all. That's bad ; but we read of some that are right- 
eous overmuch ; and such men's rigidness prevails with them to 
judge and condemn all but themselves. But, I pray, what and 
how many were the things wherein you differed ? 

By-ends. Why, they, after their headstrong manner, conclude 
that it is duty to rush on their journey all weathers, and I am for 
waiting for wind and tide. They are for hazarding all for God at 
a clap, and I am for taking all advantage to secure my life and 
estate. They are for holding their notions, though all other men 
be against them ; but I am for religion, in what and so far as the 
times and my safety will bear it. They are for religion when in 
rags and contempt ; but I am for him when he walks in his silver 
slippers, in the sunshine, and with applause. 

Mr. Ilold-the-world. Ay, and hold you there still, good Mr. By- 
ends ! for, for my part, I can count him but a fool that, having 
the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so unwise to lose it. Let 
us be wise as serpents ; it's best to make hay while the sun shines ; 
you see how the bee lieth still all winter, and bestirs her only when 
she can have profit with pleasure. God sends sometimes rain, and 
sometimes sunshine ; if they be such fools to go through the first, 
yet let us be content to take fair weather along with us. For my 
part, I like that religion best that will stand with the security of 
God's good blessings unto us ; for who can imagme, that is ruled 
by his reason, since God has bestowed upon us the good things of 
this life, but that he would have us keep them for his sake ? Abra 
ham and Solomon grew rich in religion ; and Job says, that a good 
man " shall lay up gold as dust." But he must not be such as the 
men before us, if they be as you have described them. 

Mr. Save-all. I think that we are all agreed in this matter, and 
therefore there needs no more words about it. 

Mr. Money-love. No, there needs no more words about this 
matter indeed ; for he that believes neither Scripture nor reason, 
(and you see we have both on our side,) neither knows his own 
liberty, nor seeks his own safety. 

Mr. By-ends. My brethren, we are, as you see, going all on 



166 pilgrim's progress. 

pilgrimage, and, for our better diversion from things that are bad, 
give me leave to propound unto you this question : — 

Suppose a man, a minister or a tradesman, &c., should have an 
advantage lie before him to get the good blessings of this life, yet 
so as that he can by no means come by them, except, in appear- 
ance at least, he becomes extraordinary zealous in some points of 
religion that he meddled not w^ith before ; may he not use this 
means to attain his end, and yet be a right honest man ? 

Mr. Money-love. I see the bottom of your question ; and, with 
these gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavour to shape you an 
answer. And ^rs^, to speak to your question, as it concern eth a 
minister himself: Suppose a minister, a worthy man, possessed 
but of a very small benefice, and has in his eye a greater, more fat 
and plump by far ; he has also now an opportunity of getting it, 
yet so as by being more studious, by preaching more frequently 
and zealously, and because the temper of the people requires it, by 
altering of some of his principles. For my part, I see no reason 
Avhy a man may not do this, (provided he has a call,) ay, and more 
a great deal besides, and yet be an honest man. For why ? 

1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful, (this cannot be 
contradicted,) since 'tis set before him by Providence; so then he 
may get it if he can, making no question for conscience sake. 

2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him more studious, 
a more zealous preacher, &c., and so makes him a better man ; 
yea, makes him better improve his parts, which is according to the 
mind of God. 

3. Now, as for his complying with the temper of his people, by 
deserting, to serve them, some of his principles, this argueth, (1.) 
That he is of a self-denying temper; (2.) Of a sweet and winning 
deportment ; and, (3.) So more fit for the ministerial function. 

4. I conclude, then, that a Minister that changes a Small for a 
Great should not, for so doing, be judged as covetous ; but rather, 
since he is improved in his parts and industry thereby, be counted 
as one that pursues his call, and the opportunity put into his hand 
to do good. 

And now to the second part of the question, which concerns the 
Tradesman you mentioned : Suppose such a one to have but a 
poor employ in the world, but, by becoming religious, he may mend 
his market, perhaps get a rich wife, or more and far better cus- 
tomers to his shop ; for my part, I see no reason but this may be 
lawfully done. For why? 

1. To become religious is a virtue, by what means soever a mao 
becomes so. 



pilgrim's progress. 167 

2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich wife, or more custom lo my 
shop. 

3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, gets 
that which is good of them that are good, by becoming good himself; 
so, then, here is a good wife, and good customers, and good gain, 
and all these by becoming religious, which is good. Therefore, to 
become religious to get all these, is a good and profitable design. 

This answer, thus made by Mr. Money-love to Mr. By-ends's 
question, was highly applauded by them all ; wherefore they con- 
cluded, upon the whole, that it was most wholesome and advan- 
tageous ; and because as they thought, no man was able to con- 
tradict it. and because Christian and Hopeful were yet within call, 
they jointly agreed to assault them with the question as soon as 
they overtook them ; and the rather, because they had opposed Mr. 
By-ends before. So they called after them, and they stopped, and 
stood still till they came up to them ; but they concluded, as they 
went, that not Mr. By-ends, but old Mr. Hold-the-world, should 
propound the question to them ; because, as they supposed, their 
answer to him would be without the remainder of that heat that 
was kindled betwixt Mr. By-ends and them, at their parting a little 
before. 

So they came up to each other ; and, after a short salutation, Mr. 
Hold-the-world propounded the question to Christian and his fellow, 
and bid them to answer it if they could. 

Then said Christian, even a babe in religion may answer ten 
thousand such questions ; for if it be unlawful to follow Christ for 
loaves, (as it is,*) how much more abominable is it to make of him 
and religion a stalking-horse, to get and enjoy the world ! Nor 
do we find any other than heathens, hypocrites, devils, and witches, 
that are of this opmion. 

1. Heathens ; for when Hamor and Shechem had a mind to the 
daughter and cattle of Jacob, and saw that there was no way for 
them to come at them but by being circumcised, they said to their 
■companions, " If every male of us be circumcised as they are cir- 
cumcised, shall not their cattle, and their substance, and every 
beast of theirs, be ours ?" Their daughters and their cattle were 
that which they sought to obtain, and their religion the stalking- 
horse they made use of to come at them. Read the whole story, f 

2. The hypocritical Pharisees were also of this religion : Long 
prayers were their pretence, but to get widow's houses was their 
intent ; and greater damnation was from God their judgment. X 

3. Judas, the devil, was also of this religion : he Avas religious 

' John vi. t Geu, xxxiv, 20-21 t Liikc xx. 47. 



168 pilgrim's progress. . . 

for the bag, that he might be possessed of what was put therein j 
but he was lost, cast away, and the very Son of Perdition. 

4. Simon, the wizard, was of this religion too ; for he would 
have had the Holy Ghost, that he might have got money therewith j 
and his sentence from Peter's mouth was according.* 

5. Neither will it out of my mind but that that man that takes 
up religion for the world, will throw away religion for the world j 
for so surely as Judas designed the world in becoming religious, so 
surely did he also sell religion and his Master for the same. To 
answer the question therefore, affirmatively, as I perceive you have 
done, and to accept of, as authentic, such answer, is both heath- 
enish, hypocritical, and devilish ; and your reward will be according 
to your works. 

Then they stood staring one upon another, but had not where- 
Avith to answer Christian. Hopeful also approved of the sound- 
ness of Christian's answer; so there was a great silence among 
them. Mr. By-ends and his company also staggered and kept 
behind, that Christian and Hopeful might outgo them. Then said 
Christian to his fellow, if these men cannot stand before the sentence 
of men, what will they do with the sentence of God ? And if they 
are mute when dealt with by vessels of clay, what will they do 
when they shall be rebuked by the flames of a devouring fire ? 
The ease that pii- Then Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, 
grims have is but and Went till they came at a delicate plain, called 
httie in this hfe. Ease, where they went with much content: but 
that plain was but narrow, so they quickly got over it. Now, at 
the farther side of that plain was a little hill, called Lucre, and in 
that hill a Silver Mine, which some of them that had formerly gone 
Lucre-hiii, a dan- that Way, because of the rarity of it, had turned 
gcrous hiu. aside to see ; but going too near the brim of the 

pit, the ground being deceitful under them broke, and they were 
slain. Some also had been maimed there, and could not, to their 
dying day, be their own men again. 

Demas at the hill Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road 
Lucre. over against the Silver Mine, stood Deman, (gen- 

lie calls to Chris- tlemaii-like,) to call passengers to come and see; 
tianand Hopeful to who said to Christian and his fellow. Ho! turn 
come to him. ^side hither, and I will show you a thing. 

Chr. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the way to see it ? 

Demas. Here is a silver mine, and some digging in it for trea- 
sure; if you will come, with a little pains, you may richly provide 
for yourselves. 

• Acts viii. 19-22. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 169 

Then said Hopeful, Let us go see. 

Not I, said CJiristian; I have heard of this place iiopefui tempted 
before now, and how many have there been slain; to go, but Christian 
and, besides, that treasure is a snare to those that ^°^^^ ^''^ ^^""^ 
seek it, for it hindereth them in their pilgrimage. 

Then Christian called to Demas, saying. Is not the place dan- 
gerous? Hath it not hindered many in their pilgrimage ?* 

De^nas. Not very dangerous, except to those that are careless 
But withal he blushed as he spake. 

Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not stir a step, but still 
keep on our way. 

Hope. I will warrant you, when By-ends* comes up, if he hath 
(he same invitation as we, he will turn in thither to see. 

Chr. No doubt thereof, for his principles lead him that Vv^ay, and 
ci hundred to one but he dies there. 

Then Demas called again, saying. But will you not come over 
and see? 

Then Christian roundly answered, saying, De- Christian roundetii 
mas, thon art an enemy to the right ways of the "P Demas. 
Lord of this way, and hast been already condemned, for thine own 
turning aside, by one of his Majesty's Judges; and why seekest 
thou to bring us into the like condemnation ? Besides, if we at all 
turn aside, our Lord the King will certainly hear thereof, and will 
there put us to shame, where we would stand with boldness before 
him. t 

Demas cried again, that he also was one of their fraternity ; and 
that, if they would tarry a little, he also himself would walk with 
them. 

Then said Christian, What is thy name? Is it not the same by 
the which I have called thee ? 

Demas. Yes, my name is Demas ; I am the son of Abraham. 

Chr. I know you; GehaziAvas your great-grandfather, and Judas 
your father, and you have trod in their steps. It is but a devilish 
prank that thou usest. Thy father was hanged for a traitor, and 
thou deservest no better reward. Assure thyself, that when we 
come to the King, we will tell him of this thy behaviour. Thus 
they went their way. % 

By this time. By-ends and his companions were By-ends goes over 
come again within sight, and they, at the first beck, ^^ Demas. 
went over to Demas. Now, whether they fell into the pit by look- 
ing over the brink thereof, or whether they went down to dig, or 
whether they were smothered in the bottom by the damps that 

• Hosea iv. 8. +2 Tim. iv. 10. J 2 Kinps v. 20. MaHh. xxvi 14, IS.— xxvii. 1-6, 

15 



170 PILGRIM'S PROGRE&fS. 

commonly arise, of these things I am not certain; but this I oh- 
served, that they never were seen again in the way. Then san^ 
Christian : — 

By-ends and Silver Demas both agree y 
One calls, the other runs, that lie may be 
A sharer in his lucre ; so these do 
Take up in this world, and no fartlier go. 

Now I saw that, jnst on the other side of this 
yiomiment^''^"^^ P^^^"' ^^^ Pilgrims came to a place, where stood 
an old Monument hard by the highway-side, at the 
sight of which they were both concerned, because of the strange- 
ness of the form thereof; for it seemed to them as if it had been a 
woman transformed into the shape of a pillar. Here, thereforey 
they stood looking and looking upon it, but could not lor a time 
tell what they should make thereof. At last. Hopeful espied, 
written above, upon the head thereof, a writing in an unusual hand j 
but he, no scholar, called to Christian, (for he was learned,) to see 
if he could pick out the meaning; so he came, and, after a little 
ia,ying of the letters together, he found the same to be this. He- 
member LoVs wife. So he read it to his fellow; after which they 
both concluded that that was the pillar of salt into which Lot's 
wife was turned, for her looking back, with a covetous heart, when 
she was going from Sodom for safety ;* which sudden and ama- 
zing sight gave them occasion for this discourse : — 

Chr. Ah 1 my brother, this is a seasonable sight ; it came oppor- 
tunely to us, after the invitation which Demas gave us to come 
over to view the hill Lucre ; and had we gone over as he desired 
us, and as thou wast inclining to do, my brother, we had, for aught 
I know, been made, like this woman, a spectacle for those that shall 
come after to behold. 

Hope. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to wonder 
that I am not now as Lot's wife, for wherein was the difference 
betwixt her sin and mine ? She only looked back, and I had a 
desire to go see. Let grace be adored, and let me be ashamed 
that ever such a thing should be in my heart. 

Chr. Let us take notice of what we se^ here, for our help fojr 
lime to come. This woman escaped one judgment; for she fell 
not by the destruction of Sodom ; yet she was destroyed by an- 
other. As we see, she is turned into a pillar of salt. 

Hope. True ; and she may be to us both caution and example 
«:aution, that we should shun her sin; or a sign of what judgmeiit 

' Gen. xix. 25. 



pilgrim's PR0GKES3. J 71 

Will overtake such as shall not be prevented by this caution. So 
ivorah, Dathan, and Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty men 
that perished in their sin,* did also become a sign or example to 
others to beware. But, above all, I muse at one thing, to wit, how 
Demas and his fellows can stand so confidently yonder to look foi 
that treasure, which this Avoman, but for looking behind her after, 
(for we read not that she stepped one foot out of the way,) was 
turned into a pillar of salt ; especially since the judgment which 
overtook her did make her an example, within sight of where they 
are ; for they cannot choose but see her, did they but lift up their 
eyes. 

Clir It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that their 
hearts are groAvn desperate in the case ; and I cannot tell who to 
compare them to so fitly as to them that pick pockets in the presence 
of the Judge, or that will cut purses under the gallows. It is said 
of the men of Sodom, " That they were sinners exceedingly^''''^ 
because they were sinners before the Lord, that is, in his eyesight, 
and notwithstanding the kindnesses that he had shown them ; for 
the Land of Sodom was now like the garden of Eden heretofore.! 
This therefore provoked him the more to jealousy, and made their 
plague as hot as the fire of the Lord out of heaven could make it. 
And it is most rationally to be concluded, that such, even such as 
these are, that shall sin in the sight, yea, and that too in despite 
of such examples that are set continually before them, to caution 
them to the contrary, must be partakers of severest judgments. 

Hope. Doubtless thou hast said the truth : but what a mercy is 
it that neither thou, but especially I am not made myself this ex- 
ample ! This ministereth occasion to us to thank God, to fear 
before him, and always to remember Lot's wife. 

I saw then that they went on their way to a 

A. river. 

pleasant river, which David the king called " the 
River of God ;"§ but John, "the River of the Water of Life."lt 
Now, their way lay just upon the bank of this river ; here, there- 
fore. Christian and his companion walked with great delight ; they 
drank also of the water of the river, which was pleasant and enli- 
vening to their weary spirits : besides, on the banks 

f.^, . . VI. 'J ^ -..1 Trees by the river. 

01 this river, on either side, were green trees, with 

all manner of fruit : and the leaves they ate to pre- , '^^^ /™'^ ^^^ 
I, . , , ,. 1 . .; leavesof the trees, 

vent surieits, and other diseases that are incident 

to those that heat their blood by travel. On either side of the river 

was also a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies, and it was 

• Numb, xvl 31, 32. t Gen. xiii. 13. t Ibid. ver. 10. § Psahn Ixv. 9, 
i Rev. xxii. 1. 2. Ezek. xivii. 



172 PILGRIM'S PROGRESg. 

A meadow, in green all the year long. In this meadow they 
which, they lie lay down and slept: for here they might lie 
own o s eep. down safely.* When they awoke, they gathered 
again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again of the water of the 
river, and then lay down again to sleep. Thus they did several 
days and nights. Then they sang : — 

Behold ye how these crystal streams do glide, 

To comfort pilgrims, by the highway side ! 

The meadows green, besides their fragrant smell, 

Yield dainties for them ! and he who can tell 

What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves, these trees do yield. 

Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field. 

So, when they were disposed to go on, (for they were not as yet 
at their journey's end,) they ate and drank, and departed. 

Now I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed far, but 
the river and the way for a time parted ; at which they were not a 
little sorry, yet they durst not go out of the way. Now, the way 
from the river was rough, and their feet tender by reason of their 
travel : so the souls of the pilgrims were much discouraged because 
of the way ;t wherefore, still as they went on they wished for a 
better way. Now, a little before them, there was, on the left hand 
„ ^ J of the road, a meadow, and a stile to go over into 

By-path meadow. . ' i . n , n -, T,r ^ 

It, and that meadow is called By-path Meadow. 

Then said Christian to his fellow. If this meadow lieth along by 

our way-side, let's go over into it. Then he went 

One temptation i-i iiiii ii i i 

makes way for an- to the stile to see, and behold a path lay along by 
other. the way on the other side of the fence. 'Tis ac- 

cording to my wish, said Christian ; here is the easiest going. 
Come, good Hopeful, and let us go over. 

Hope. But how if this path should lead us out of the way ? 

. . That's not likely, said the other. Look, doth it 

may lead weak ^^^ S^ along by the way-side ? So Hopeful, being 
ones out of the persuaded by his fellow, went after him over the 
^^^y* stile. When they were gone over, and were got 

into the path, they found it very easy for their feet ; and withal 
they, looking before them, espied a man walking as they did, and 
his name was Vain-conjidence ; so they called after him, and asked 
fl.»^T,of u sc fo^ ^i"^3 Whither that way led? He said, To the 

See what it is too r~\ ^ • ^ r^ r ^ • • - • 

suddenly to fall in Celestial Gate. Look, said Christian, did not I tell 
with strangers. you SO ? By this you may see we are right. So 
they followed, and he went before them. But, behold, the night 
came on, and it grew very dark ; so they that were behind lost 
•jight oi him that went before. 

* Psalm xxiii. Isa. xxxv 8. t Numb. xxi. 4. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 173 

He, therefore, that went before, (Vain-confidence 
by name,) not seeing the way before him, fell into ^ainyorious in."'^ 
a deep pit, which was on purpose there made, by 
the Prince of those grounds, to catch vain-glorious fools withal, 
and was dashed in pieces with his fall. 

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to 
know the matter, but there was none to answer ; only they heard 
a groaning. Then said Hopeful, Where are we now ? Then was 
his fellow silent, as mistrusting that he had led him out of the way. 
And now it began to rain, and thunder, and lighten in a most 
dreadful manner, and the water rose amain. 

Then Hopeful groaned within himself, saying, chnSnL^dHope" 

! that I had kept on my way. fui. 

Chr. Who could have thought that this path should have led us 
out of the way ? 

Hope. I was afraid on't at the very first, and therefore gave you 
that gentle caution. I would have spoke plainer, but that you are 
older than I. 

Chr. Good brother, be not offended : I am sorry christian's repen 

1 have brought thee out of the way, and that I have tance for leading 
put thee into such imminent danger. Pray, my '^'^ brother out of 
brother, forgive me ; I did not do it of an evil in- ^ ^^^* 

tent. 

Hope. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee ; and believe 
too that this shall be for our good. 

Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother j but we must 
not stand here ; let us try to go back again. 

Hope. But, good brother, let me go before. 

Chr. No, if you please, let me go first, that if there be any dan- 
ger, I may be first therein ; because by my means we are both gone 
out of the way. 

No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first ; for your mind being 
troubled may lead you out of the way again. 

Then, for their encouragement, they heard the voice of one say- 
ing, " Let thine heart be towards the highway ; even the way that 
thou wentest, turn again." * But by this time the They are in dan- 
waters were greatly risen ; by reason of which the gerof drowning as 
way of going back was very dangerous. Then I ^ ^^ ^o ac . 
thought that it is easier going out of the way when we are m, than 
going in when we are out. Yet they adventured to go back; but 
it was so dark, and the flood was so high, that, in their gomgback, 
they had like to have been drowned nine or ten times. 

' Jer. xxxi. 21. 

15* 



174 pilgrim's progress. 

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again to the 
stile that night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a little shelter. 
They sleep in the ^^^Y ^^^ down there till the day brake ; but. being 
grounds of Giant weary, they fell asleep. Now there was, not far 
Despair. from the place where they lay, a castle, called 

Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair, and it 
was in his grounds they now were sleeping ; Avherefore he getting 
up in the morning early, and walking up and down in his fields, 
caught Christian and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then, with 
a grim and a surly voice, he bid them awake, and asked them 
whence they were, and what they did in his grounds ? They told 
, ^ , , . him they were Pilgrims, and that they had lost 

He finds them in , , roi • -, ^ r-^- -xt- i i • 

iiis ground, and their way. Then said the Giant, You have this 
carries them to night trespassed on me, by trampling in and lying 
Doubtmg Castle. ^^ ^^^ grounds, and therefore you must go along 
with me. So they were forced to go, because he was stronger 
than they. They also had but little to say, for they knew themselves 
in a fault. The Giant therefore drove them before him, and put 
them into his Castle, in a very dark dungeon, nasty and stinking 
lo the spirits of these two men. Here then they lay, from Wed- 
The grievousness ^^^sday moming till Saturday night, without one 
of their imprison- bit of bread, or drop of drink, or light, or any to 
''^^"*'- ask how they did. They were therefore here in 

evil case, and were far from friends and acquaintance. Now, in 
this place. Christian had double sorrow, because 'twas through his 
unadvised counsel that they were brought into this distress. 

Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name Avas Diffidence. 
So, when he Avas gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done, 
to Avit, that he had taken a couple of prisoners, and cast them into 
his dungeon, for trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her 
also, What he had best to do further Avith them? So she asked 
liim, What they Avere, Avhence they came, and Avhither they Avere 
bound? and he told her. Then she counselled him, that, when he 
arose in the morning, he should beat them Avithout mercy. So, 
Avhen he arose, he getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and 
goes down into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating 
of them, as if they Avere dogs, although they never gave him a 
On Thursday, Gi- word of distaste ; then he fell upon them, and beat 
ant Despair beats them fearfully, in such sort that they Avere not able 
his prisoners. ^^ ^^^^ themselves, or to turn them upon the floor. 

This done, he withdraAvs, and leaves them there to condole their 
misery, and to mourn under their distress ; so all that day they 
spent their time in nothing but sighs and bitter lamentations. T he 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 175 

ti^xl she talked with her husband further about them, and, under- 
standing that they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them 
to make way with themselves ; so, when morning was come, he 
goes to them in a surly manner as before, and perceiving them to 
be very sore with the stripes that he had given them the day before, 
he told them, that since they were never like to come out of that 
place, their only way would be forthwith to make ^^^ ^^j^^ ^.^^^ 
an end of themselves, either with knife, halter, or Despair counsels 
poison : for why, said he, should you choose to live, t^^em to kill thcm- 
seeing it is attended with so much bitterness ? But 
they desired him to let them go. With that he looked ugly upon 
them, and, mshing to them, had doubtless made an end of 
them himself, but that he fell in one of his fits (for The Giant some- 
he sometimes, in sunshiny weather, fell into fits) t'^^^^s has fits. 
and lost for a time the use of his hands; wherefore he withdrew, 
and left thein, as before, to consider what to do. Then did the 
prisoners consult between themselves, whether it was best to take 
his counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse: — 

Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The christian cmshe,. 
life that w« now live is miserable! For my part I 
know not whether is best, to live thus, or to die out of hand. " My 
soul chooseth strangling rather than life ;" * and the Grave is more 
easy for me than this dungeon ! Shall we be ruled by the Giant? 

Hope. Indeed our present condition is dreadful, and death would 
be far more welcome to me, than thus for ever to abide. But yel 
let us consider, the Lord of the country to which we are going hath 
said, " Thou shalt do no murder ;'' no, not to another man's person: 
much more, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel to kill our- 
selves- Besides, he that kills another can but commit murder 
upon his body ; but for one to kill himself, is to kill Hopeful comforts 
body and soul at once. And, moreover, my broth- ^i™- 
er, thou talkest of ease in the Grave ; but has thou forgotten the 
Hell whither for certain the murderers go ? for " no murderer hath 
eternal life," &c. And let us consider again, that all the law is 
not in the hand of Giant Despair ; others, so far as I can under- 
stand, have been taken by him as well as we, and yet have escaped 
out of his hands. Who knows but that God, who made the world, 
may cause that Giant Despair may die ; or that, at some time or 
otlier, he may forget to lock us m ; or but he may, in a short time, 
have another of his fits before us, and may lose the use of his limbs ? 
and if ever that should come to pass again, for my part, I am re 
solved to pluck up the heart of a man, and to try my utmost to gel 

* Job vii. 15. 




[The Pilgrims in Lie Dungeon of Giant Despair.] 



from under his hand. I was a fool that I did not try to do it before ? 
hut, however, my brother, let's he patient, and endure a while ; the 
time may come that may give us a happy release ; hut let us not 
be our own murderers." With these Avords Hopeful at present did 
moderate the mind of his brother ; so they continued together, in 
the dark, that day in their sad and doleful condition. 

Well, towards evening, the Giant goes down into the dungeon 
again, to see if his prisoners had taken his counsel ; but, when he 
came there, he found them alive ; and, truly, alive was all ; for 
now, what for want of bread and water, and by reason of the wounds, 
they received w^hen he beat them, they could do little hut breathe. 
But, I say he found them alive: at which he fell into a grievous 
rage, and told them that, seeing they had disobeyed his counsel, it 
should be worse with them than if they had never been born. 

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian fell into 

a swoon; but, coming a little to himself again, they renewed their 

discourse about the Giant's counsel, and whether yet they had besi 

ciiristian still de- ^^^^^ ^^ "^ ^°* Now Christian again seemed for do- 

jected. ing it ; but Hopeful made his second reply as fol- 

loweth : — 

My brother, said he, rememberest thou not how valiant thoi* 
hast been heretofore ? Apollyon could not crush thee ; nor could 
176 



pilgrim's progrrss. 177 

ail that thou didst hear, or see, or feel, in the tt r i r . 

' ' ) ^ Hopeful comforts 

Valley of the Shadow of Death. What hardship, him again by cai- 
terror, and amazement hast thou already gone I'^if former tilings 
through land art thou no wnothmg but fears? Thou '° remembrance. 
seest that I am in the dungeon with thee, a far weaker man by 
nature than thou art ; also this Giant hath wounded me as well as 
thee, and hath also cut off the bread and water from my mouth, 
and with thee I mourn without the light. But let us exercise a 
little more patience. Remember how thou playedst the man at 
Vanity-fair, and wast neither afraid of the chain nor cage, nor yet 
of bloody death. Wherefore let us (at least to avoid the shame 
that becomes nol a Christian to be found in) bear up with patience 
as well as we can. 

Now, night being come again, and the Giant and his Avife being 
m bed, shfe asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had 
taken his counsel 1 To w-hich he replied, They are sturdy rogues ; 
they choose rather to bear all hardships than to make way with 
themselves. Then said she, Take them into the Castle-Yard to- 
morrow, and show them the bones and sculls of those that thou 
hast already despatched ; and make them believe, ere a week comes 
to an end, thou wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast done their 
fellows before them. 

So, when the morning was come, the Giant goes to them again. 
and takes them into the Castle-Yard, and shows them as his wife 
had bidden him. These, said he, were Pilgrims as you are once : 
and thev trespassed on my grounds as you have ^ ^ 

I J 1 T .1- u? £* T * \u ■ ^'^ Saturday, the 

done ; and, when I thought fit, I tore them m ^iant threatened 
pieces ; and so within ten days I will do you. Go, that shortly lie 
get you down to your den again! and with that he ^^°"i.^ P"^^^ ^^^"' 
beat them all the way thither. They lay, there- 
fore, all day on Saturday, in lamentable case, as before. Now, 
when night was come, and when Mrs. Diffidence and her husband 
the Giant were got to bed, they began to renew their discourse of 
their prisoners ; and withal the old Giant wondered that he could 
neither by his blows nor counsel bring them to an end. And with 
that his wife replied, I fear, said she, that they live in hopes that 
some will come to relieve them ; or that they have pick-locks about 
them, by the means of which they hope to escape. And sayest 
thou so, my dear, said the Giant : I will therefore search them in 
the morning. 

Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to pray, and con- 
tinued in prayer till almost break of day. - 

Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one. halt 




A key in Chris- 
tian's bosom called 
Troinise, opens a- 
ny lock in Doubt- 
ing Castle. 



"^Ue Pilgrims escaping from Doubting Castle.] 

amazed, brake out into this passionate speech : What a fool, quoth 
he, am 1, to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may 
as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my 
bosom, called Promise^ that will, I am persuaded, 
open any lock in Doubting Castle. Then said 
Hopeful, That's good news : good brother, pluck it 
out of thy bosom, and try. 

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at 
the dungeon door, whose bolt, as he turned the key, gave back, and 
the door flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both 
came out. Then he went to the outward door, that leads into the 
Castle-Yard, and with his key opened that door also. After that 
he went to the iron gate, for that must be opened too ; but that lock 
vvex^t damnable hard, yet the key did open it. Then they thrust 




(Tli-e Delectable Mountaiiis.J 

open the gate to make iheir escape with speed; but that gale, asiJ 
opened, made such a creaking, that it waked Giant Despair, who 
hastily rismg to pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs to fail ; for his 
fits took him again, so that he could by no means go after them. 
Then they went on, and came to the King's highway, and so were 
safe, because they were out of his jurisdiction. 

Now, when they were gone over the stile, they began to contrive 
with thernselves what they should do at that stile, to prevent those 
that should come after from falling into the hands of Giant Despair. 
So they consented to erect there a Pillar, and to ^ pj^g^^ erected 
engrave upon the side thereof this sentence : " Over by Christian and 
this stile is the way to Doubting Castle, which is ^i^ fellow. 
kept by Giant Despair, who despiseth the King of the Celestial 
Country, and seeks to destroy his holy Pilgrims." Many, there- 
fore, that followed after read what was written, and escaped the 
danger. This done, they sang as follows : — 

Out of the way we went, and then we found, 

What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground , 

And le t them that come after have a care, 

Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners are. 

Whose castle 's Doubting, and whose name 's Despair. 



179 



ISO pilgrim's progress. 

They went then till they came to the Detectabte 
Mountahir'^ ^ Mountains ; which mountains belong to the Lord 

of that Hill of which we have spoken before: so 
fhey went up to the mountains to behold the gardens and orchards^ 

the vineyards, and fountains of water j where also 
They arc refreshed . ^^.^^^ ^^^^ Washed themselves, and did freely 

5IV the mountains, ■' ' ' ■' 

eat of the vmeyards. Now there were on the tops 
oi these mountains Shepherds feeding their flocks, and they stood 
by the highway-side. The Pilgrims, therefore, went to them, and 
leaning upon their staffs, as is common with weary 
!e1dr*'^'''^'^" Pilgi"-ims, when they stand to talk with any by the 
way, they asked, Whose Delectable Moimtains are 
these ? and whose be the sheep that feed upon them ? 

Shep. These mountains are ImmanuePs land, and they are 
within sight of his City : and the sheep also are his, and he laid 
down his life for them. 

Chr. Is this the way to the Celestial City? 

Shep. You are just in your way. 

Chr. How far is it thither ? 

Shep. Too far for any but those who shall get thither indeed. 

Chr. Is the v/ay safe, or dangerous ? 

Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be safe, " but transgressors 
shall fall therein."* 

Chr. Is there in this place any relief for Pilgrims that are weary 
and faint in the way ? 

Shep. The Lord of these Mountains hath given us a charge 
" not to be forgetful to entertain strangers ;"t therefore the good 
of the place is before you. 

I saw also in my dream, that when the Shepherds perceived they 
were wayfaring men, they also put questions to them, (to which 
rhey made answer as in other places,) as, Whence came you? and 
hoAv got you into the way ? and by what means have you so per- 
severed therein ? for but few of them that begin to come hither do 
show their face on these Mountains. But when 
weicome^lhem^^ ^^^ Shepherds heard their answers, being pleased 
therewith, they looked very lovingly upon them, 
and said, " Welcome to the Delectable Mountains !" 

The Shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, Expert' 
ence, Watchful, aud Sincere, took them by the hand, and had them 
10 their tents, and made them partake of what was ready at present. 
They said, moreover, We would that you should stay here awhile, 
10 be acquainted with us, and yet more to solace yourselves with 

• Hos. xiv. 9. t Ileb. xiii. 1,2. 



pilgrim's progress. 181 

the good of these Delectable Mountains. Then they told ihcni 
that they were content to stay : so they went to rest that night, 
because it was very late. 

Then I saw in my dream, that, in the morning, the Shepherds 
called up Christian and Hopeful to walk with them upon the Moun- 
tains : so they went forth with them, and walked a ^vhile, having 

a pleasant prospect on every side. Then said the „, 

oil 11 1 %N,i n 1 1 They are bLowu 

bhepherds, one to another. Shall we show these wonders. 

Pilgrims some wonders ? So, when they had con- 
cluded to do it, they had them first to the top of a '^^^^ mountain of 

Error 

hill called Error, which was very steep on the 
farthest side, and bid them look down to the bottom. So Christian 
and Hopeful looked down, and saw, at the bottom, several men 
dashed all to pieces by a fall that they had from the top. Then 
said Christian, What meaneth this ? The Shepherds answered, 
Have you not heard of them that were made to err, by hearkening 
to Hymeneus and Philetus, as concerning the faith of the resurrec- 
tion of the body ?* They answered, Yes. Then said the Shep- 
herds, Those that you see dashed in pieces at the bottom of this 
mountain are they : and they have continued to this day unburied, 
(as you see,) for an example to others to take heed how they 
clamber too high, or how they come too near the brink of this 
mountain. 

Then I saw that they had them to the top of an- „ ^ . 

, . , , P 1 • ^ , . Mount Caution. 

other mountain, and the name oi that is Caution, 
and bid them look afar off; which when they did, they perceived, 
as they thought, several men walking up and down among the 
tombs that were there j and they perceived that the men were 
blind, because they stumbled sometimes upon the tombs, and be- 
cause they could not get out from among them. Then said Chris- 
tian, What means this ? 

The Shepherds then answered. Did you not see, a little below 
these Mountains, a stile that led into a meadow, on the left hand 
of this way? They answered, Yes. Then .^aid the Shepherds, 
From that stile there goes a path that leads directly to Doubting 
Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair ; and these men, (pointing 
to them among the tombs,) came once on pilgrimage, as you do 
now, even until they came to that same stile. And,. because the 
right way was rough in that place, they chose to go out of it into 
that meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair, and cast 
into Doubting Castle ; where, after they had a while been kept m 
the dungeon, he at last did put out their eyes, and led them among 

'■ 2 Tim. ii. 17. 



132 pilgrim's progress. 

those tombs, where he has left them to wander to this very day ; 
that the saying of the wise man might be fulfilled, " He that wan- 
dereth out of the way of understanding shall remain in the congre- 
gation of the dead."* Then Christian and Hopeful looked one 
upon another with tears gushing out, but yet said nothing to the 
Shepherds. 

Then I saw m my dream, that the Shepherds had them to another 
place in a bottom, where was a door in the side of a hill ; and they 
opened the door, and bid them look in. They looked in, therefore, 
and saw that within it was very dark and smoky ; they also thought 
that they heard there a rumbling noise, as of fii-e, and a cry of some 
tormented, and that they smelt the scent of brimstone. 

Then said Christian, What means this ? The Shepherds told 
. . . „ 1, them, This is a by-way to Hell, a way that hypo- 

A by-way to Hell. . ' . -^ , ■' , ,, i • i . , • , 

crites go m at ; namely, such as sell their birthright 
with Esau ; such as sell their Master with Judas ; such as blas- 
pheme the gospel with Alexander ; and that lie and dissemble with 
Ananias, and Sapphira his wife. 

Then said Hopeful to the Shepherds, I perceive that these had 
(jn them, even every one, a show of pilgrimage, as we have now ; 
had they not ? 

Shep. ¥"68, and held it a long time too. 

Hope. How far might they go on in pilgrimage in their day, since 
they, notwithstanding, were thus miserably cast away ? 

Shep. Some further, and some not so far, as these Mountains. 

Then said the Pilgrims one to the other, We have need to cry lo 
ihe Strong for strength. 

Shep. Ay, and you will have need to use it when you have 
It too ! 

By this time the Pilgrims had a desire to go forward, and the 

Shepherds a desire they should ; so they walked together towards 

the end of the Mountains. Then said the Shepherds one to another, 

Let us here show the Pilgrims the Gates of the Celestial City, if they 

The Shepherds' ^^^^ skill to look through our perspective glass. 

Perspective Glass. The Pilgrims then lovingly accepted the motion ; 

The bill Clear ^"^ ^^^Y ^^^ ^^^m to the top of a high hill, called 

Clear ^ and gave them the glass to look. 

Then they tried to look, but the remembrance 

vile fear. ^f ^^^^ ^^st thing that the Shepherds had shown 

them made their hands shake ; by means of which 

impediment they could not look steadily through the glass j yet 

they thought they saw something like the Gate, and- also some 

* Trov. xxi. 16. 




[Tjie Perspective fJJass.i 

of the glory of the place. Thus they went awav and sing this 
song : — 

Thus, by the Shepherds, secrets are reveal'd, 
Wliich from all other men are kept conceal'd . 
Come to the Shepherds, then, if you would see 
Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be. 



When they were about to depart, one of the . 

^, ^ -, I ,/..7 *i A- twofold caution. 

fehepherds gave them a note of the way. Another 
of them bid them beware of the Flatterer. The third bid them 
'ake heed that they slept not upon the Enchanted Ground; and 
I he fourth bid them God speed. So I awoke from my dream. 

And I slept, and dreamed again, and saw the same two Pilgrims 
g^oing doAvn the Mountains, along the highway, towards the City. 
183 



184 pilgrim's progress. 

Now, a little below these Mountr'as, on the left 
ceiu^out"of°wmrh hand, lieth the country of Conceit; from which 
came Ignorance. country there comes into the way in which the 
Pilgrims walked a little crooked lane. Here, therefore, they met 
with a very, brisk lad that came out of that country, and his name 
was Ignorance. So Christian asked him, from what parts he 
came ? and whither he was going ? 

Christian and igno- ^SnoT. Sir, I was bom in the country that lietli 
ranee have some ofF there, a little on the left hand ; and I am going 
'aik- to the Celestial City. 

Chr. But how do you thmk to get in at the Gate ? for you may 
find some difficulty there. 

As other good people do, said he. 

Chr. But what have you to show at that Gate, that the Gate 
should be opened to you ? 

Ignor. I know my Lord's will, and have been 
The grounds of ig- » good liver ; I pay every man his own; I pray, 
norance's hope= fast, pay tithes, and give alms, and have left my 
country, for whither I am going. 

Chr. But thou camest not in at the Wicket-Gate that is at the 
head of this way ; thou camest in hither through that same crooked 
lane ; and therefore I fear, however thou mayst think of thyself, 
when the reckoning day shall come, thou wilt have laid to thy 
charge that thou art a thief and a robber, instead of getting admit 
tance into the City. 
IT f 11 *!, ^^^ Ignor. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me , 

lie telleth every ° ' •' . . 

one he is but a I know you not : be content to follow the religiou 
'ooi- of your country, and I will follow the religion of 

mine. I hope all will be well. And as for the Gate that you talk 
of, all the world knows that that is a great way off of our country. 
I cannot think that any man in all our parts doth so much as know 
the way to it ) nor need they matter whether they do or no, since 
we have, as you see, a fine pleasant green lane, that comes down 
from our country the next way into the way. 

When Christian saw that the man was wise in his own conceit, 

he said to Hopeful, whispering. There is more hope of a fool than 

of him: and said moreover. When he that is a foolwalketh by the 

way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every 

f foo^ ''^''^ '^ ^° °^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^s ^ ^^'^^' W^^^ ' s^^ll ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
with him, or outgo him at present, and so leave 

!iim to thmk of what he hath heard already, and then stop again 

for him afterward, and see if by degrees we can do any good by 

him? Then said Hopeflil : — 



PILGKnfd l^ItOGKEbS. 185 

Let Ignorance a little while now muse 
On what is said, and let him not refuse 
Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain 
Still ignorant of what's the chiefest gain. 
God sailh, Those that no understanding have, 
(Although he made them.) them he will not save. 

Ha farther added. It is not good, I think, to say to hmi all at 
once ; let us pass him by, if you Will, and talk to hun anon, even 
OS he is able to hear it. So they both went on, and Ignorance he 
came after. 

Now, when they had passed him a little way, they entered into 
a very dark lane, where they met a man whom seven Devils had 
bound with seven strong cords, and were a-carrying him back to 
the door that they saw on the side of the hill. Now good Chris- 
tian began to tremble, and so did Hopeful his companion ; yet as 
the Devils led away the man, Christian looked to see if he knew 
him, and he thought it might be one Turn-away^ 
that dwelt in the town of Apostacy. But he did one^Turn-awaT"' 
not perfectly see his face j for he did hang his head 
like a thief that is found. But, being gone past. Hopeful looked 
after him, and espied on his back a paper with this inscription, 
" Wanton Professor, and damnable Apostate." Then said Chris- 
tian to his fellow, Now I call to my remembrance christian teiieth 
that which was told me of a thing that happened his companion a 
to a good man hereabout : the name of that man story of Little-faith. 
was Little-faith^ but a good man, and he dwelt in the town of 
Sincere. The thing was this : At the entering in 
at this passage, there comes down from Broad- -p^"^ ^^^^ Lane. 
way-Gate a lane, called Dead Marl's Lane^ so 
called because of the murders that are commonly done there ; and 
this Little-faith, going on pilgrimage as we do now, chanced to sit 
down there and sleep. Now there happened at that time to come 
down the lane, from Broad-w^ay-Gate, three sturdy rogues, and 
their names were Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt, (three broth- 
ers ;) and they, espying Little-faith where he was, came galloping 
up with speed. Now, the good man was just awakened from hi? 
sleep, and was getting up to go on his journey : so they came up 
all to him, and, with threatening language, bid him stand. At this 
Little-faith looked as white as a clout, and had Little-faith robbed 
neither powder to fight nor fly. Then said Faint- byFaint-iieart,Mis- 
heart. Deliver thy purse; but he making no haste trust, and Guilt. 
10 do it, (for he was loath to lose his money,) Mistrust ran up to 
him. and thrusting his hand into his pocket, pulled out thence a 



186 pilgrim's progress. 

, bag of silver. Then he cried out, Thieves, thieves ! 

silver, and knock With that Guilt, with a great chib that was in his 
him clown. hand, struck Little-faith on the head, and, with 

that blow, felled him fiat to the ground, where he lay bleeding as 
one that would bleed to death. All this while the thieves stood 
by. But, at last, hearing that some were upon the road, and fear- 
ing lest it should be one Great-grace, that dwells in the town of 
Good-confidence, they betook themselves to their heels, and left 
this good man to shift for himself. Now, after a while, Little-faith 
came to himself, and getting up, made shift to scramble on his 
way. This was the story. 

Hope. But did they take from him all that ever he had 1 

Chr. No ; the place where his jewels were they 
hjfbeluhing'r''^ never ransacked ; so those he kept still. But, as I 
was told, the good man was much afflicted for his 
loss ; for the thieves had got most of his spending money. That 
which they got not, as I said, were jewels; also he had a little odd 
f-ittie-faith forced i^o^^ey left, but scarce enough to bring him to his 
(0 beg to his jour- journey's end : nay, (if I was not misinformed,) he 
iiey's end. ^y^s forced to beg as he went, to keep himself alive, 

(for his jewels he might not sell :) but beg, and do what he could, 
he went, as we say, with many a hungry belly, the most part of 
the rest of the way.* 

Hope. But is it not a wonder they got not from him his certifi- 
cate, by which he is to receive his admittance at the Celestial 
Gate ? 

Chr. 'Tis a wonder ; but they got not that, though they missed 
He kept not his ^^ iiot through any good cunning of his ; for he, be- 
best things by his ing dismayed with their coming upon him, had 
own cunning. neither power nor skill to hide any thing ; so it was 

more by good providence than by his endeavour that they missed 
of that good thing, f 

Hope. But it must needs be a comfort to him that they got not 
this jewel from him, 

Chr. It might have been great comfort to him, had he used it as 
he should ; but they that told me the story said, that he made but 
little use of it all the rest of the way ; and that because of the 
dismay that he had in the taking away of his money. Indeed he 
forgot it a great part of the rest of his journey j and besides, when 
at any time it came into his mind, and he began to be comforted 
therewith, then would fresh thoughts of his loss come again upon 
aim, and these thoughts would swallow up all. 

* 1 Pet. iv. 18. \ 2 Tim. i. 14. 2 Pet. ii. 9 



filgriim's progress. 187 

Hope. Alas, poor man ! This could not but be a He is pitied by 
great grief to hirn. both. 

Chr. Grief! Ay, a grief indeed. Would it not have been so tc 
any of us, had we been used as he, to be robbed and wounded too, 
and that in a strange place, a^ he was ? 'Tis a wonder he did not 
die with grief, poor heart ! I was told that he scattered almost all 
the rest of the way with nothing but doleful and bitter complaints ; 
telling also to all that overtook him, or that he overtook in the way . 
as he went, where he was robbed, and how ; who they were that 
did it, and what he had lost; how he was wounded, and that he 
hardly escaped with life. 

Hope. But 'tis a wonder that his necessity did not put him upon 
selling or pawning some of his jewels, that he might have where- 
withal to relieve himself in his journey. 

Chr. Thou talkest like one upon whose head is christian snibbeth 
the shell to this very day : for what should he paAvn his fellow for unad- 
them? or to whom should he sell them? In all visediv speaking. 
that country where he was robbed, his jewels were not accounted 
of; nor did he want that relief which could from thence be admin- 
istered to him. Besides, had his jewels been missing at the Gate 
of the Celestial City, he had (and that he knew well enough) been 
excluded from an inheritance there; and that would have been 
worse to him than the appearance andvillany of ten thousand thieves. 

Hope. Why art thou so tart, my brother? Esau sold his birth 
right, and that for a mess of pottage, * and that birthright was his 
greatest jewel ; and if he, why might not Little-faith do so too ? 

Chr. Esau did sell his birthright indeed, and so a discourse about 
do many besides, and, by so doing, exclude them- Esau and Littio- 
selves from the chief blessing, as also that caitiff ^^''^' 
did ; but you must put a difference between Esau and Little-faith, 
and also betwixt their estates. Esau's birthright was typical, but 
Little-faith's jewels were not so. Esau's belly Esau was ruled by 
was his god ; but Little-faith's belly was not so. his lusts. 
Esau's want lay in his fleshly appetite ; Little-faith's did not so. 
Besides, Esau could see no farther than to the fulfilling of his lusts ; 
" for I am at the point to die," said he, " and what good will this 
birthright do me ?" f But Little-faith, though it was his lot to have 
but a little faith, was by this iitttle faith kept from such extrava- 
gances, and made to see and prize his jewels more than to sell 
them, as Esau did his birthright. You read not Esau never had 
any where that Esau had faith, no, not so much as faith. 
a little ; therefore no marvel, where the flesh only bears sway, (as 

' Heb. xii. 16. + Gen. xxv. 22. 



188 PiLGUlM's PflOGKESS. 

it will in that man where no faith is to resist,) if he sells his birtn- 
right, and his soul, and all, and that to the Devil of Hell ; for it ia 
with such as it is with the ass, " who, in her occasion cannot be 
turned away."* When their minds are set upon their lusts, they 
Little-faith could Will have them, whatever they cost. But Little- 
not live upon faith was of another temper : his mind was on 
Esau's pottage. things divine ; his livelihood was upon things that 
were spiritual, and from above ; therefore to what end should he 
that is of such a temper sell his jewels, (had there been any that 
would have bought them,) to fill his mind with empty things? 
A comparison be- "^^^^ ^ ^^^^ g^^^ ^ V^^^Y to fill his belly with hay ? 
tween the turtle- or Can you persuade the turtle-dove to live upon 
riove and the crow carrion, like the crow ? Though faithless ones can, 
for carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage, or sell what they have, and 
themselves outright to boot ; yet they that have faith, saving faith, 
though but a little of it, cannot do so. Here, therefore, my brother, 
is thy mistake. 

Hope. I acknowledge it, but yet your severe reflection had almost 
made me angry. 

Chj\ Why, I did but compare thee to some of the birds that are 
of the brisker sort, who will run to and fro in untrodden paths, with 
the shell upon their heads : but pass by that, and consider the 
matter under debate, and all shall be well betwixt thee and me. 
„ . , Hope. But, Christian, these three fellows, I am 

Hopeful swaggers, ,■,.■, , l 

persuaded in my heart, are but a company oi cow- 
ards ; would they have run else, think you, as they did, at the noise 
of one that was coming on the road? Why did not Little-faith 
pluck up a greater heart '? He might, methinks, have stood one 
brush with them, and have yielded when there had been no remedy. 
i\o great heart for ^^- That they are cowards many have said, 
God where there is but few have found it SO in the time of triai. As 
but little faith. foj, a gj^gj^t heart. Little-faith had none; and I per- 
ceive by thee, my brother, hadst thou been the man concerned, 
thou art but for a brush, and then to yield. And, 
courage when we eerily, since this is the height of thy stomach, now 
are out, then when they are at a distance from us, should they appear 
vi are in. jq thee as they did to him, they might put thee to 

second thoughts. 

But consider, again, they are but journeymen thieves ; they serve 
under the King of the Bottomless Pit, who, if need be, will come 
in to their aid himself, and his voice is "as the roaring of a Lion.'- 
i myself have been engaged as this Little-faith was. and I found 

• Jer. ii. 24. 



pilgrim's PH0GREB9. 189 

it a terrible thing. These three villains set upon christian tells hi« 
me md I beginning like a Christian to resist, own experience in 
iht gave but a call and in came their master : I ^^^'" *^^^®- 
w lid (as the saymg is) have given my life for a penny ; but that, 
a' Grod would have it, I was clothed with armour of proof. Ay, 
? id yet, though I was so harnessed, I found it hard work to quit 
■ lyself like a man ; no man can tell what in that combat attends 
is, but he that hath been in the battle himself. 

Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but suppose 
hat one Great-grace was in the way. 

Chr. True, they have often fled, both they and their master, 
Arhen Great-grace hath but appeared ; and no mar- The King's Chain- 
rel, for he is the King's Champion : but I trow you P'°"' 
ivill put some difference between Little-faith and the King's 
Oharopion ! All the King's subjects are not his champions, nor 
tan they, when tried, do such feats of war as he. Is it meet to 
•hink that a little child should handle Goliah as David did? or 
,hat there should be the strength of an ox in a wren ? Some are 
jtrong, some are w eak ; some have great faith, some have little : 
.his man was one of the weak, and therefore he went to the wall. 

Hope. I would it had been Great-grace, for their sakes. 

Chr. If it had been he, he might have had his hands full : for I 
must tell you, that though Great-grace is excellent good at his 
weapons, and has, and can, so long as he keeps them at sword's 
point, do well enough with them, yet if they get within him, even 
Faint-heart, Mistrust, or the other, it shall go hard but they will 
throw up his heels. And when a man is down, you know, what 
can he do ? 

Whoso looks well upon Great-grace's face will see those scars 
and cuts there that shall easily give demonstration of what I say. 
Yea, once I heard that he should say, (and that when he was in 
the combat,) We despaired even of life. How did these sturdy - 
rogues and their fellows make David groan, mourn, and roar! Yea, 
Mordecai and Hezekiah too, though champions in their days, were 
forced to bestir them, when by these assaulted ; and yet, notwith- 
standing, they had their coats soundly brushed by them. Peter, 
upon a time, would go try what he could do; but, though some do 
say of him that he is the prince of the apostles, they handled him 
so, that they made him at last afraid of a sorry girl. 

Besides, their King is at their whistle ; he is never out of hearing ; 
and, if at any time they be put to the worst, he, if possible, comes 
m to help them : and of him it is said, " The sword Leviathan's sturdi- 
of him that layeth at him cannot hold ; the spear, "^^^' 



190 PILGRIM S ItOGRESS. 

the dart nor the habergeon. He esteemeth iron as straw, and bras-s 
as rotten wood. The arrow cannot make him fly : sling-stones 
are turned with him into stubble : darts are counted as stubble ; 
he laugheth at the shaking of a spear." * What can a man do in 
The excellent met- this case ? It is true, if a man could at every turn 
tie that is m Job's have Job's horse, and had skill and courage to ride 
^°''^^- him, he might do notable things : for " his neck is 

clothed with thunder ; he will not be afraid as the grasshopper ; 
the glory of his nostrils is terrible ; he paweth in the valley, re- 
joiceth in his strength, and goeth out to meet the armed men. 
He mocketh at fear, and is not aflrighted, neither turneth back from 
the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear 
and the shield. He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and 
rage, neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He 
saith among the trumpets, ' Ha, ha !' and he smelleth the battle 
afar off, the thundering of the captains, and the shouting." j" 

But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never desire to 
meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could do better, when we 
hear of others that have been foiled ; nor be tickled at the thoughts 
of our own manhood ; for such commonly come by the worst when 
tried. Witness Peter, of whom I made mention before ; he would 
swagger, ay, he would ; he would, as his vain mind prompted him 
to say, do better and stand more for his Master than all men ; but 
who so foiled and run down by these villains as he ! 

When, therefore, we hear that such robberies are done on the 
King's highway, two things become us to do; 1. To go out har- 
nessed, and to be sure to take a shield with us ; for it was for want 
of that, that he who laid so lustily at Leviathan could not make 
him yield. For indeed, if that be wanting, he fears us not at all. 
Tnerefore he that had skill hath said, ^^ Above all, take the shield 
of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts 
of the wicked?''X 

2. It is good also that we desire of the King a 
7convoy'! ^"^ ^^^^ convoy, yea, that he will go with us himself. This 
made David rejoice when in the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death : and Moses was rather for dying where he stood, 
than to go one step without his God.§ O, my brother ! if He will 
but go along with us, what need we be afraid of ten thousands that 
shall set themselves against us l\\ but, without him, the proud 
helpers fall under the slam.^ 

I, for my part, have been m the fray before now, and though, 

* Job xli. 26-29. T Job xxxix. 19, 20. X Eph. vl. 16. § Exod. xxxiii. la 
I Psalm iil. 6. IT Isaiah x. 4. 



pilgrim's PKOGKEaS. 191 

(thiough the goodness of Him thai is best,) 1 am, as you see, alive, 
yet I cannot boast of my manhood. Glad shall I be if I meet with 
no more such brunts; though 1 fear we are not got beyond all 
danger. Howerer, since the Lion and the Bear have not as yet 
devoured me, I hope God will also deliver us from the next uncir 
cumcised Philistine. Then sang Christian : — 

Poor Little-faith ! hast been among the thieves'? 
Wast robb'dl Remember this, whoso beheves ; 
And get more faith ; then shall you victors be 
Over ten thousand, else scarce over three. 

So they went on and Ignorance followed. They went, then, 
till they came at a place where they saw a way 

ii- • ^ ^1 • J T '^1 1 ^ 1- Aw^ayand a way 

put Itself into their way, and seemed withal to lie 

as straight as the way which they should go ; and here they knew 

not which of the two to take, for both seemed straight before them ; 

therefore here they stood still to consider: and as they were think- 

mg about the way, behold a Man, black of flesh, 

but covered Avith a very light robe, came to them, J^^^^^^'''''' ^'"'^^ 

and asked them why they stood there? They 

answered, they were going to the Celestial City, but knew not 

which of these ways to take. Follow me, said the Man, it is 

thither that I am going. So they followed him in the way thai 

but now came into the road, which by degrees turned, and turned 

them so from the City that they desired to go ^, . . 

, .,.,. 1 ■ n 1 Christian and his 

to, that in little time their faces were turned away feUow deiaded. 

irom it ; yet they followed him. But, by-and-by, 

before they were aware, he led them both within '^^^f ^^^ ^^^'^'^ "' 

•' ' a net. 

the compass of a net, in which they were both so 
entangled that they knew not what to do ; and with that the 
white robe fell off the Black Mail's hack; then they saw where 
they were. Wherefore there they lay some time, for they could 
not get themselves out. 

Then said Christian to his fellow. Now do I see 
myself in an error. Did not the Shepherds bid us conditio^T^' 
beware of the Flatterer ? As is the saying of the 
wise man, so we have found it this day, " A man that flattereth his 
neighbour spread eth a net for his feet."* 

Hope. They also gave us a Note of Directions about the way 
for our more certain finding thereof; but therein we have also for 
gotten to read, and have not kept ourselves from the paths of the 
Destroyer. Here David w\t,s wiser than we : for, sailh he, " Con 




[Filgnras ill the Net.j 

cerning the works of men, by the word of thy lips, I have kept me 
from the paths of the Destroyer."* Thus they lay bewailing them- 
selves m the net. At last they espied a Shining 

A Shining One ^ . , , • i i • r- 1 1 

comes to them One coming towards them, with a whip oi small 
with a whip in hia cords in his hand. When he was come to the 
'^^"'*- place where they were, he asked them. Whence 

they came, and what they did there ? They told him, that they 
were poor Pilgrims going to Zion, but were led out of their way 
by a Black Man, clothed in white, who bid us, said they, folloiv 
him, for he was going thither too. Then said he with the whip. 
It is Flatterer, a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into 
an angel of light :t so he rent the net, and let the men out. Then 
said he to them, Follow me, that I may set you in your way again ; 
so he led them back to the way they had left to follow the Flatterer. 
They are examin- Then he asked them, saying. Where did you lie 
ed, and convicted the last night? They said, with the Shepherds 
of forgetfuiness. ^^^^ ^he Delectable Mountains. He asked them 
then, if they had not a Note of Directions for the way ? They 
answered, Yes. But did you not, said he, when you were at a 
stand, pluck out and read your note? They answered. No. He 
asked them, Why ? They said, they forgot. He asked, moreover, 

* Psalm x\-ii. 1 ^200^ xi. 13, li 

192 



PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 192 

If the Shepherds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer ? They 
answered, Yes ; but we did not imagine, said they, qq^.^-^^,^^^ A^e 
that this fine-spoken man had been he. spoken. 

Then I saw in my dream, that he commanded They are whippett 
them to lie down ; which when they did, he chas- and sent on theii 
tised them sore, to teach them the good way ^^y- 
wherein they should walk.* And as he chastised them, he said, 
" As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten ; be zealous, therefore, 
and repent."-\ This done, he bids them go on their way, and take 
good heed to the other directions of the Shepherds. So they 
thanked him for his kindness, and went softly along the right 
way, singing : — 

Come hither, you that walk along the way, 
See how the Pilgrims fare that go astray ; 
They catched are in an entangled net, 
'Cause they good counsel lightly did forget. 
*Tis true, they rescued were : but yet, you see, 
They're scourged to boot : let this your caution be. 

Now, after a while, they perceived, afar off, one commg softly 
and alone, all along the highway, to meet them. Then said Chris- 
tian to his fellow, Yonder is a man with his back towards Zion, 
and he is coming to meet us. 

Hope. I see him: let us take heed to ourselves now, lest he 
should prove a Flatterer also. So he drew nearer, 
and at last came up to them. His name was The^^theist meets 
Atheist, and he asked them, Whither they were 
going? 

CTir. We are going to mount Zion. 

Then Atheist fell into a very great laughter. 

Chr. What's the meaning of your laughter ? 

Ath. I laugh to see what ignorant persons you are, to take upon 
ou so tedious a journey, and yet are like to have nothing but your 
idvel for your pams. 

Chr. Why, man ! do you think we shall not be They reason to- 
eceived? s^'^«^- 

Ath. Received I There is not such a place as you dream of in 
all this World. 

Chr. But there is m the World to come. 

Ath. When I was at home in mine own country, I heard as you 
now affirm ; and, from that hearing, went out to see, and have been 
seeking this City these twenty years, but find no more of it than I 
did the first day I set out.J 

* Deut. XXV. 2. 2Ccr. iv, 17. t.Rev, iii 19 t Eccl. x. 15. 
17 



» He laughs at them. 



194 pilgrim's progress. 

Chr. We have both heard, and heheve tnat tnere is such a plac? 
to be found. 

The Atheist takes ^^^' ^^^ ^°^ ^j when at home, believed, I had 
up bis content in not come thus far to seek ; but finding none, (and 
this world. jqi J should, had there been such a place to be 

found, for I have gone to seek it farther than you,) I am going back 
again, and will seek to refresh myself with the things that I then 
cast away, for hopes of that which I now see is not. 
Christian proveth Then said Christian to Hopeful, his companion, 
hi3 brother. Is it true which this man hath said ? 

Hope. Take heed, he is one of the Flatterers ; 
Hopeful's gracious ^^^^^^^^^ ^j^^t it hath cost US once already for 
answer. 

our hearkening to such kind of fellows. What ! 

no mount Zion ! Did we not see from the Delectable Mountains 
the Gate of the City ? Also, are we not now to walk by faith ? 
Let us go on, lest the man with the whip overtake 
formed Xs'tisl ^« ^g^^^' . ^ou should have taught me that lesson, 
ments is a help which I will round you in the ears withal: " Ceasc, 
against present ^^ gQ^^ fQ Jieav the instruction that causeth to 
temp a ions. ^^^ from the words of knowledge?'''^ I say, my 

brother, cease to hear him, and let us "believe to the saving of the 
soul."t 

Chr. My brother, I did not put the question to thee for that I 
doubted of the truth of our belief myself, but to prove thee, and to 
A fruit of an hon- fetch from thee a proof of the honesty of thy heart. 
est heart. As for this man, I know that he is blinded by the 

god of this world. Let thee and I go on, knowing that we have 
belief of the truth, and " no lie is of the truth." % 

Hope. Now do I rejoice in hope of the glory of God. 

So they turned away from the man, and he, laughing at them, 
went his way. 

They coins to the I then saw in my dream, that they went on until 
enchanted ground, they Came into a certain country, whose air nat- 
urally tended to make one drowsy, if he came a stranger into it. 
. And here Hopeful began to be very dull and heavy to sleep ; 
Hopeful begins to wherefore he said unto Christian, I do now begin 
be drowsy. to grow SO drowsy, that I can scarcely hold open 

mine eyes ; let us lie down here, and take one nap. 
Christian keeps By no means, said the other, lest, sleeping, we 

Uim awake. never awake more. 

Hope. Why, my brother ? Sleep is sweet to the labouring man ; 
we may be refreshed, if we take a nap. 

* Prov. xix. 27. ^ Heb. x. 39. t 1 John ii. 21. ^ 



pilgrim's phogress. 195 

Chr. Do you not remember that one of the Shepherds bid us 
beware of the Enchanted Ground ? He meant by that, that we 
should beware of sleeping : " Wherefore, let us not sleep as others 
do, but let us watch and be sober." * 

Hope. I acknowledge myself in a fault : and had „ . ^ , ^ , 

r -, ^ 1 T 1 1 1 •. • IT He IS thankful 

I been here alone, I had, by sleeping, run the dan- 
/«er of death. I see it is true that the wise man saith, " Two are 
better than one." f Hitherto hath thy company been my mercy ; 
and thou shalt have a good reward for thy labour. 

Now then, said Christian, to prevent drowsi Good discourse 
ness in this place, let us 'fall into good dis- P^eventeih drowsi- 

•^ ■' " ness. 

course. 

With all my heart, said the other. 

Chr. Where shall we begin ? 

Hope. Where God began with us. But do you begin, if you please. 

Chr. I will sing you first this song : — 

Wlien saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither, 

And hear how these two Pilgrims taUc together ; 
The dream- Yea, let them learn of them in any wise 
er's note. Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumb'ring eyes. 

Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well, 

Keeps them awake, and that in spite of heU. 

Then Christian began and said, I will ask you They begin at the 
a question: How came you to think at first of do- beginning of their 

^ •' conversion. 

mg as you do now? 

Hope. Do you mean how I came at first to lOok after the good 
of my soul ? 

Chr. Yes, that is my meaning. 

Hope. I continued a great while in the delight of those things 
which were seen and sold at our Fair ; things which I believe now 
would have, had I continued in them still, drowned me in perdition 
and destruction. 

Chr. What things were tney ? 

Hope. All the treasures and riches of the world. Hopeful's life bu. 
Also I delighted much m noting, revelling, drinking, fore conversion, 
swearing, lying, uncleanness. Sabbath-breaking, and what not, 
that tended to destroy the soul. But I found at last, by hearing 
and considering of things that are divine, which indeed I heard of 
you, as also of beloved Faithful that was put to death, for his faith 
and good living, in Vanity-fair, " that the end of these things is 
death; % and that, " for these things' sake, the wrath of God cometh 
upon the children of disobedience." § 

• 1 Tliess. V. 6. 1 Eocl. iv. 9. t Rom ri. 21-23. § Eph v 6. 



196 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Chr. And did you presently fall under the power of this cott' 
viction? 

Hopeful at first - Hope. No ; I was not willing presently to kno^ 
Bhuts his eyes the evil of sin, nor the damnation that follows upon 
against the light. ^.j^g commission of it; but endeavoured, when my 
mind at first began to be shaken with the word, to shut my eyes 
against the light thereof. 

Chr. But what was the cause of your carrying of it thus to the 
first workings of God's blessed Spirit upon you? 
Reasons of his re- Hofe. The causes were, 1. I was ignorant that 
sisting the light. this was the work of God upon me. I never thought 
that, by awakenings for sin, God at first begins the conversion of a 
sinner. 2. Sin was yet very sweet to my flesh, and I was loath to 
leave it. 3. I could not tell how to part with mine old companions, 
their presence and actions were so desirable unto me. 4. The 
hours in which convictions came upon me were such troublesome 
and such heart-aJOTrighting hours, that I could not bear, no, not so 
much as the remembrance of them upon my heart. 

Chr. Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your trouble ? 

Hope. Yes, verily ; but it would come into my mind again, and 
then I should be as bad, nay, worse than I was before. 

Chr. Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind again ? 
When he had lost ^^V^' ^any things ; as, 

the sense of sin, 1. If I did but meet a good man in the streets ; or,, 
what brought it 2. If I have heard any read in the Bible j or, 
3. If mine head did begin to ache ; or, 

4. If I were told that some of my neighbours were sick; oi, 

5. If I heard the bell toll for some that were dead ; or, 

6. If I thought of dying myself; or, 

7. If I heard that sudden death happened to others : 

8. But especially when I thought of myself, that I must quickly 
come to judgment. 

Chr. And could you, at any time, with ease, get off the guilt of 
sin. when by any of these ways it came upon you ? 

Hope. No, not I : for then they got faster hold of my conscience. 
And then, if I did but think of going back to sin, (though my mind 
was turned against it,) it would be double torment to me. 
When he could no Chr. And how did you then? 
longer shake oflfhi^s jj^^^^ j thought I must endeavour to mend my 
feMh'enhfendea- life; or else, thought I, I am sure to be damned, 
vours to mend. Chr. And did you endeavour to mend ? 

Hope. Yes ; and fled from not only my sins, but sinful company 
too, and betook me to religious duties, as praying, reading, weeping 



pilgrim''s progress. 107 

for sin, speaking truth to my neighbours, &c. These things did I, 
with many others, too much here to relate. 

Chr. And did you think yourself well then ? 

Hope. Yes, for a while ; but at the last my trouble Then he thought 
came tumbling upon me again, and that over the himself well. 
neck of all my reformations. 

Chr. How came that about, since you were now reformed 1 

Hope. There were several things that brought Reformation at .as-. 
It upon me, especially such sayings as these : " All could not help, and 
our righteousnesses are as filthy rags." * " By 
the works of the law no man shall he justified.'^'' f " Wlien ye have 
done all these things, say we are unprofitable ;''"' % with many 
more such like. From whence I began to reason with myself 
thus : If all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags ; if, by the deeds 
of the law, no man can be justified -, and if, when we have done 
all, we are yet unprofitable, then it is but folly to think of Heaven 
bv the Law. I farther thought thus : If a man runs „. , . 

, ■. •■ 1 • 111 111 1 Hi^ bemg a debtor 

a hundred pounds mto the shopkeepers debt, and to the law troubled 
after that shall pay for all that he shall fetch, yet Wm. 
if his old debt stand still in the book uncrossed, the shopkeeper may 
sue him for it, and cast him into prison, till he shall pay the debt. 

Chr. Well, and how did you apply this to yom-self ? 

Hope. Why I thought thus with myself: I have by my sins run 
a great way into God's book, and that my now reforming will not 
pay off that score; therefore I should think still, under all my 
present amendments, but how shall I be freed from that damnation 
that I brought myself in danger of by my foi-mer transgressions ? 

Chr. A very good application : but pray go on 

Hope. Another thmg that hath troubled me ever His espying bad 
since my late amendments is, that if I look nar- things in his besdu- 
rowly into the best of what I do now, I still see ^^^ ^°" ^ ^ 
sin, new sin, mixing itself with the best of that I do ; so that now 
I am forced to conclude, that, notwithstanding my former fond 
conceits of myself and duties, I have committed sin enough in o e 
day to send me to hell, though my former life had been faultless. 

Clir. And what did you then ? 

Hope. Do '2 I could not tell what to do, until 
I broke my mind to Faithful ; for he and I were break Ss mind to 
well acquainted : and he told me, that unless I Faithful, who told 
could obtain the Righteousness of a Man that never ^'"^ ^^^ ^*y ^ ^^ 
had sinned, neither mine own, nor all the right- 
eousness of the world could save me. 

• Isaiah Ixiv. 6. tGalii. 16 tLuk xvil. 

7* 



103 PlLGRlM^S PROGRESS. 

Chr. Aud did you think he spake true ? 

Hope. Had he told me so when I was pleased and satisfied with 
mine own amendments, I had called him fool for his pains 
but now, since I see mine own infirmity, and the sin which 
cleaves to my best performance, I have been forced to be of his 
opinion. 

Chr. But did you think, when at first he suggested it to yoii, 
rhat there was such a Man to be found, of whom it might justly 
be said, that he never committed sin ? 

Hope. I must confess the words at first sounded 
ed I[pl?senJ'^"" Strangely j but, after a little more talk and company 
with him, I had full conviction about it. 

Chr. And did you ask him what man this was, and how you 
must be justified by him ? 

Hope. Yes ; and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, that dwel- 
leth on the right hand of the Most High.* And thus said he, you 
A more particular ^^^^^ ^^ justified by him, even by trusting to what 
discovery of the he hath done by himself in the days of his Flesh, 
way to be saved. ^-^-^^ sufiered, when he did hang on the tree. I 
asked him further. How that Man's Righteousness could be of such 
efficacy as to justify another before God ? And he told me, he was 
the mighty God, and did what he did, and died the death also, not 
for himself, but for me ; to whom his doings, and the worthiness 
of them, should be imputed, if I believed on him. 

C%r. And what did you do then 1 

Hope. I made my objections against my believ- 
He doubts of ac ^ ^^^ ^^^^ j thought He was uot willing to save 

ceptation. °' ° ^ 

me. 
Chr. And what said Faithful to you then ? 

Hope. He bade me go to Him and see. Then 1 
*rucTed ^"^^ ^^" ^^^^ ^^ ^^^ presumption. He said, No ; for I was 
invited to come.f Then he gave me a book of 
Jesus his inditing, to encourage me the more freely to come ; and 
he said, concerning that book. That every jot and tittle thereof 
stood firmer than heaven and earth.| Then I asked him, What 1 
must do when I came ? and he told me, I must entreat upon my 
knees,§ with all my heart and soul, the Father to reveal Him to 
me. Then I asked him further. How I must make my supplica 
tions to Him ?ii And he said. Go, and thou shalt find Him upon 
a Mercy-Seat -^ where he sits all the year long, to give pardon and 
forgiveness to them that come. I told him that I knew not whal 

* Heb. X. Rom. iv. 2.5. Col. i. 14. I Pet. i. 19. t Matth. xi. 28. t Ibid. xxiv. 35. 
SPsalmxcv. 6. Dan. vi. 10. D Jer. xxix. 12, 13. IT Exod. xxv. 22. 



pilgrim's progress. 199 

10 say when I came. And he bid me say to this 
effect, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" and 
make me know and believe in Jesus Christ : for I see, that if his 
Righteousness had not been, or I have not faith in that Righteous- 
ness, I am utterly cast away. Lord ! I have heard that thou art f 
merciful God, and hast ordained that thy Son Jesus Christ should 
be the Saviour of the world ; and, moreover, that thou art willing 
to bestow him upon such a poor smner as I am, (and I am a sinner 
indeed !) Lord ! take therefore this opportunity, and magnify thy 
grace in the salvation of my soul, through thy Son Jesus Christ. 
Amen. 

Chr. And did you do as you were bidden ? 

Hope. Yes ; over, and over, and over. He prays. 

Chr. And did the Father reveal the Son to you ? 

Hope. No ; not at fnst, nor second, nor third, nor fourth, not 
fifth; no, nor at the sixth time neither. 

Chr. What did you then 1 

Hope. What ! why, I could not tell what to do. 

Chr. Had you no thoughts of leaving off praying ? 

Hope. Yes; and a hundred times twice told. He thought to leave 

Chr. And what was the reason you did not ? off praying. 

Hope. I believed that it was true which hath been told me, to 
wit. That, without the Righteousness of this Christ, all the world 
could not save me; and therefore, thought I with He durst not leave 
myself, if I leave off, I die, and I can but die at the off praying, and 
Throne of Grace. And withal this came into my '^^y- 
mind, "If it tarry, wait for it, because it will surely come, and will 
not tarry." So I continued praying, until the Father showed me 
his Son. 

Chr. And how was he revealed unto you ?* 

Hope. I did not see him with my bodily eyes, 
but with the eyes of mine understanding. And to him, and^how.^ 
thus it was : One day I was very sad, I think, 
sadder than at any one time in my life ; and this sadness was 
through a fresh sight of the greatness and vileness of my sins ; and 
as I was then looking for nothing but Hell, and the everlasting 
damnation of my soul, suddenly, as I thought, I saw the Lord Jesus 
look down from heaven upon me, and saying, " Believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."! 

But I replied, Lord ! I am a great, a very great sinner ! and he 
answered, " My grace is sufficient for thee."± Then I said, But, 
Lord ! what is believing ? And then I saw from that saying, " He 

• Eph. i. 18. 19. * Acts xvi, 31. t 2 Cor. xii. 9. 



200 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

that Cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on me 
shall never thirst,"* that believing and coming was all one; and 
that he that came, that is, ran out in his heart and aiffections after 
salvation by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then the water 
stood in mine eyes ; and I asked further, But, Lord ! may such a 
great sinner as I am be mdeed accepted of thee, and be saved by 
thee ? And I heard him say, " And him that cometh to me I will 
in nowise cast out."'\ Then I said, But how. Lord ! must I con- 
sider of thee in my coming to thee, that my faith may be placed 
aright upon thee ? Then he said, " Christ came into the world 
to save sinners.^^X " ^^ ^'^ ^^^ ^^^ ^f ^^^ ^'^'^ fo'^ righteous- 
ness to every one that believes.^^^ "jHe died for our sins, and 
rose again for our justification.''''^ " He loved us, and washed 
Its from our sins in his own blood."^ " He is Mediator be- 
twixt God and usP'^'^ ^^ He ever liveth to make intercession 
for •Ms."tt From all which I gathered, that I must look for right- 
eousness in his person, and for satisfaction for my sins by his blood j 
that what he did in obedience to his Father's law, and in submit- 
ting to the penalty thereof, was not for himself, but for him that 
will accept it for his salvation, and be thankful. And now was 
my heart full of jay, mine eyes full of tears, and mine affections 
running over with love to the name, people, and ways of Jesus 
Christ. 

Chr. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul indeed ! But 
tell me particularly what effect this had upon your spirit. 

Hope. It made me see that all the world, notwithstanding all the 
righteousness thereof, is in a state of condemnation. It made me 
see that God the Father, though he be just, can justly justify the 
coming sinner. It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of 
my former life, and confounded me with the sense of mine own 
ignorance j for there never came a thought into my heart before 
now, that showed me so the beauty of Jesus Christ. It made me 
love a holy life, and long to do something for the honour and glory 
of the name of the Lord Jesus ; yea, I thought, that had I now a 
thousand gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it all for the 
sake of the Lord Jesus. 

I saw then, in my dream, that Hopeful looked back, and 
saw Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming after. — 
Look, said he to Christian, how far yonder youngster loitereth 
behind ! 

Chr. Ay, Ay, I see him, he careth not for our company. 

• John vi. 35. t Ibid. 37. 1 1 Tim. i. 15. § Rom. x. 4 i Ibid. iv. 25 
» Rev. i. 5. •* 1 Tim. ii. 5. tt Heb, vii. 25. 



pilgrim's progress. 201 

Hope. But I trow it would not 2iave hurt him, had he kept pace 
with us hitherto. 

Chr. That is true ; but I'll warrant you he thinketh otherwise 

Hope. That I think he doth ; but, however, let us tarry for him 
— So they did. 

Then Christian said to him, Come away, man ; 

1 J X 1, I-' J o Young Ignorance 

why do you stay so behmd ? ^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^g^i„_ 

Ign. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even . 

more a great deal than in company, unless I like 
it the better. 

Then said Christian to Hopeful, (but softly,) Did I not tell you 
he cared not for our company ? But, however, said he, come up, 
and let us talk away the time in this solitary place. Then direct- 
ing his speech to Ignorance, he said, Come, how do you do ? How 
stands it between God and your soul now ? 

Ign. I hope well 5 for I am always full of good ^^^^^^^^,^ hope, 
motions, that come into my mind to comfort me as and the ground of 
I walk. it- 

Chr. What good motions ? Pray tell us. 

Jgn. Why, I think of God and heaven. 

Chr. So do the devils, and damned souls. 

Ign. But I think of them, and desire them. 

Chr. So do many that are never like to come there. " The soui 
of the sluggard desires and hath nothing."* 

Ign. But I think of them, and leave all for them. 

Chr. That I doubt ; for to leave all is a very hard matter, yea, 
a harder matter than many are aware of. But why, or for what, 
art thou persuaded that thou hast left all for God and heaven ? 

Ign. My heart tells me so. 

Chr. The wise man says, " He that tmsts his own heart is a 
fool.''t 

Ign. That is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a good one. 

Chr. But how dost thou prove that 1 

Ign. It comforts me in hopes of heaven. 

Chr. That may be through its deceitfulness ; for a man's heart 
may minister comfort to him, in the hopes of that thing for which 
he has yet no ground to hope. 

Ign. But my heart and life agree together ; and therefore my 
hope is well grounded. 

Chr. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree together ? 

Ign. My heart tells me so. 

Chr. Ask my fellow if I be a thief? Thy heart tells thee so! 

* Prov. xiii. 4. +Prov. xxviii. 26. 



202 pilgrim's PR0GRES3. 

Except the Word of God beareth witness in this matter, other tes- 
timony is of no value. 

Ign. But is It not a good heart that hath good thoughts ? And 
IS not that a good life that is according to God's commandments 'J 

Chr. Yes; that is a good heart that hath good thoughts, and that 
is a good life that is according to God's commandments ; but it is 
one thing indeed to have these, and another thing only to think so. 

Ign. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and a life according 
to God's commandments ? 

Chr. There are good thoughts of divers kinds : some respecting 
ourselves, some God, some Christ, and some other things. 
What are good Ign. What be good thoughts respecting our- 
thoughts. selves ? 

Ckr. Such as agree with the Word of God. 

Ign. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree with the Word 
of God? 

Chr. When we pass the same judgment upon ourselves, which 
the Word passes. To explain myself, the Word of God saith of 
persons in a natural condition, " There is none righteous, there is 
none that doth good.'''' * It saith also, " That every imagination 
of the heart of man is only evil, and that continually.'''' f And 
again, " The imagination of mail's heart is evil from his 
youth.'''' X Now, then, when we think thus of ourselves, having 
sense thereof, then are our thoughts good ones, because according 
to the Word of God. 

Ign. I will never believe that my heart is thus bad. 

Chr. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought concerning 
thyself in thy life. But let me go on. As the Word passeth a 
judgment upon our hearts, so it passeth a judgment upon our ways ; 
and when the thoughts of our hearts and ways agree with the 
judgment which the Word giveth of both, then are both good, be- 
cause agreeing thereto. 

Ign. Make out your meaning. 

Chr. Why, the Word of God saith, that " man's ways are crooked 
ways :" § " not good, but perverse." H It saith, they are naturally 
out of the good way, that they have not known it. T]" Now, when 
a man thus thinketh of his ways, I say when he doth sensibly, and 
with heart-humiliation, thus think, then hath he good thoughts of 
his own wavs, because his thoughts now agree with the judgment 
of the Word of God. 

Ign. What are good thoughts concerniog God ? 

* Rom. iii. 10. t Gen. vi. 5. t Ibid. viii. 21. 

§ P.«alm cxxv. 5. II Frov. ii. 1.5. ITRqm. iii. 1^ 



PILGRIM'S PUOGRESS. 203 

CTir. Even as I have said concerning ourselves, when our thoughts 
of God do agree with what the Word saith of him ; and that is, 
when we think of his Being and Attributes as the Word hath 
taught; of which I cannot now discoui'se at large. But to speak 
of him with reference to us : then have we right thoughts of God, 
when we think that he knows us better than we know ourselves, 
and can see sin in us, when and where we can see none in our- 
selves ; Vv^hen we think he knows our inmost thoughts, and that 
our heart, with all its depths, is always open unto his eyes ; also 
when we think that all our righteousness stinks in his nostrils, and 
that therefore, he cannot abide to see us stand before him in any 
confidence, even in all our best performances. 

Ign. Do you think that I am such a fool as to think that God 
can see no farther than I ? or that I would come up to God in the 
best of my performances ? 

Chr. Why, how dost thou think in this matter ? 

Ign. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in Christ for justi- 
fication. 

Chr. How ! Think thou must believe in Christ, when thou seest 
not thy need of him 1 Thou neither seest thy original nor actual 
infirmities ; but hast such an opinion of thyself, and of what thou 
dost, as plainly renders thee to be one that did never see the neces- 
sity of Christ's Personal Righteousness to justify thee before God. 
How then dost thou say, I believe in Christ. 

Ign. I believe well enough for all that. 

Chr. How dost thou believe ? 

Ign. I believe that Christ died for sinners; and The faith oflgao- 
that I shall be justified before God from the curse, ''ance. 
through his gracious acceptance of my obedience to his law. Or 
thus, Christ makes my duties that are religious acceptable to his 
Father by virtue of his merits ; and so shall I be justified. 

Chr. Let me give an answer to this confession of thy faith. 

1. Thou believest with a fantastical faith ; for this faith is no- 
jrhere described in the Word. 

2. Thou believest with a false faith ; because it taketh justifica- 
lon from the Personal Righteousness of Christ, and applies it to 
hy own. 

3. This faith maketh not Christ a justifier of thy person, but of 
thy actions ; and of thy person for thy action's sake, which is false. 

4. Therefore this faith is deceitful, even such as will leave thee 
ander Avrath in the day of God Almighty. For true justifying 
faith puts the soul, as sensible of its lost condition by the law, 
apon flying for refuge unto Christ's Righteousness ; (which right- 



204 PILGRIM S PROGRESS, 

eousnesss of nis is not an act of grace, by which he maketh, fof 
justification, thy obedience accepted with God ; but his personal 
obedience to the law, in doing and suffering for us what that re- 
quired at our hands.) This righteousness, I say, true faith ac- 
cepteth ; under the skirt of which the soul being shrouded, and by 
it presented as spotless before God, it is accepted and acquitted 
from condemnation. 

Ign. What ! would you have us trust to what Christ in his own 
person hath done without us ? This conceit would loosen the reins 
of our lusts, and tolerate us to live as we list. For what matter 
how we live, if we may be justified by Christ's Personal Righteous- 
ness from all, when we believe it ? 

Chr. Ignorance is thy name, and, as thy name is, so art thou ; 
even this thy answer demonstrateth what I say. Ignorant thou 
art of what justifying righteousness is, and as ignorant how to 
secure thy soul, through the faith of it, from the heavy wrath of 
God. Yea, thou also art ignorant of the true effects of saving 
faith in this Righteousness of Christ; which is to bow and win 
over the heart to God in Christ, to love his name, his word, ways, 
and people ; and not as thou ignorantlp imaginest. 

Hope. Ask him, if ever he had Christ revealed to him from 
heaven 1 

Ignorance jangles ■fg'^- What! you are a man for revelations ! I do 
with them. believe, that what both you, and all the rest of you, 

say about that matter, is but the fruit of distracted brains. 

Hope. Why, man ! Christ is so hid in God from the natural ap- 
prehension of the flesh, that he cannot by any man be savingly 
known, unless God the Father reveals him to him. 

He speaks re- ^S"^' That is your faith, but not mine ; yet mine, 
proachfuUy ofwhat I doubt not, IS as good as yours, though I have not 
h^ knows not. j^ jj^y T^ead SO many whimsies as you. 

Chr. Give me leave to put in a word : you ought not so slightly 
to speak of this matter ; for this I will boldly affirm, even as my good 
companion hath done, that no man can know Jesus Christ but by 
the revelation of the Father ; yea, faith too, by which the soul lay- 
eth hold upon Christ, if it be right, must be wrought by the ex- 
ceeding greatness of his mighty power: the working of which faith, 
I perceive, poor Ignorance, thou art ignorant of Be awakened, 
then ; see thine own wretchedness, and fly to the Lord Jesus ; 
and by his righteousness, which is the righteousness of God, 
(for He himself is God,) thou shalt be delivered from condemna- 
tion.* 

' Matth. xi. 28. Eph.i. 18. 19. 



pilgrim's progress. 20.' 

Ign YoM go so fast I cannot keep pace with ^he talk broke «p 
you: do you go on before; I must stay a while 
behind. 

Then they said : — 

Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be, 
To slight good counsel ten times given thee % 
And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know, 
Ere long, the evil of thy doing so. 
Remember, man, in time ; stoop, do not fear ; 
Good counsel, taken weU, saves ; therefore hear ! 
But if thou yet shall slight it, thou wilt be 
The loser, Ignorance, I'll warrant thee ! 

Then Christian addressed himself thus to his fellow: WeH 
come, my good Hopeful, I perceive that thou and I must walk b) 
ourselves again. 

So I saw in my dream, that they went on apace before, and 
Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then said Christian to his 
companion, It pities me much for this poor man ; it will certainly 
go hard with him at last. 

Hope. Alas ! there are abundance in our town m this condition: 
whole families, yea, whole streets, and that of Pilgrims too ; and 
if there be so many in our parts, how many, think you, must there 
be m the place where he was born? 

Chr. Indeed, the Word saith, " He hath blinded their eyes, lest 
they should see," &c. But, now we are by ourselves, what do 
you think of such men ? Have they at no time, think you, con- 
victions of sin, and so consequently, fears that their state is dan- 
gerous 1 

Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for you are 
the elder man. 

CJtr. Then I say, sometimes, (as I think,) they may ; but they, 
being naturally ignorant, understand not that such convictions tend 
to their good ; and therefore they do desperately seek to stifle them, 
and presumptuously continue to flatter themselves in the way of 
their own hearts. 

Hope. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends 
much to men's good, and to make them right at ^^^^ ^°° ^^^ ^ 
their beginning to go on pilgrimage. 

Chr. Without all doubt it doth, if it be right : for so says the 
Word, " The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."* 

Hope. How will you describe right fear ? 

Chr. True or right fear is discovered by three „. ^ ^ 
, ^ ^ Right fear, 

things. 

* Job. xzviii. 28, Psalm cxi. 10. Prov. i. 7.— ix. 10. 
18 



206 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

1. By Its rise ; it is caused by saving convictions for sin. 

2. It driveth the soul to lay fast hold of Christ for salvatioti, 

3. It begetteth and continueth in the soul a great reverence of 
God, his Word, and ways, keeping it tender, and making it afraid 
to turn from them to the right hand, or to the left, to any thing 
that may dishonour God, break its peace, grieve the Spirit, or cause 
the enemy to speak reproachfully. 

Hope. Well said ; I believe you have said the truth. Are we 
now almost got past the Enchanted Ground ? 

C/ir. Why, are you weary of this discourse ? 

Hope. No, verily, but that I would know where we are. 

Chr. We have not now above two miles farther to go thereon, 
v/hv i<morant per- ^^^ ^^* ^^ return to our matter. Now, the ignorant 
svons do stifle con- know not that such convictions as tend to put them 
victions. j^ f^^y.^ ^^6 for their good, and therefore they seet 

to stifle them. 

Hope. How do they seek to stifle them ? 

Chr. 1. They think that those fears are v/rought by the Devil, 
(though, indeed, they are wrought of God,) and, thinking so, they 
resist them, as things that directly tend to their overthrow. 2. 
They also think that these fears tend to the spoiling of their faith, 
(when, alas for them poor men that they are ! they have none at 
all,) and therefore they harden their hearts against them. 3. They 
presume they ought not to fear, and therefore, in despite of them, 
wax presumptuously confident. 4. They see that those fears tend 
to take away from them theu' pitiful old self-holiness, and therefore 
they resist them with all their might. 

Hope. I know something of this myself j for before I knew my- 
self, it Avas so with me. 

Chr. Well, we will leave at this time our neighbour Ignorance 
by himself, and fall upon another profitable question. 

Hope. With all my heart, but you shall still begin. 

Chr. Well, then, did you know, about ten years 

Talk about one rn ' • ^ i r- 

Temporary. ^o°5 °^^ lemporary m your parts, who was a for- 

ward man in religion then ? 

Where he dwelt. ^^'P^' ""^^"^^ ^^^^ ' ^^^ 5 ^e dwelt in Graceless 
.a town about two miles ofi" Honesty , and he dwelt 
next door to one Turnback. 

Chr, Right, he dwelt under the same roof with him. Well, 

that man was much awakened once ; I believe that 

once. °^^^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ some sight of his sins, and of the 

wages that were due thereto. 

Hope. I am of your mind ; for my house not being above ihree 



PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 207 

miles from him, he would oft-times come to me, aiid that with 
many tears. Truly, I pitied the man, and was not altogether with- 
out hope of him : but one may see, " It is not every one that cries, 
Lord, Lord." 

Chr. He told me once that he was resolved to go on pilgrimage 
as we go now ; but all on a sudden he grew acquainted with one 
Save-self^ and then he became a stranger to me. 

Hope. Now, since we are talking about him, let us a little in- 
quire into the reason of the sudden backsliding of him, and such 
others. 

Chr. It may be very profitable ; but do you begin. 

Hope. Well then, there are, in my judgment, four reasons for it. 

1. Though the consciences of such men are 

awakened, yet their minds are not changed ; there- a/cUy°onesgo^back" 
fore, when the power of guilt weareth away, that 
which provoke th them to be religious ceaseth. Wherefore they 
naturally turn to their own course agam, even as we see the dog 
that is sick of what he hath eaten, so long as his sickness prevails, 
he vomits and casts up all ; not that he doth this of a free mind, 
(if we may say a dog has a mind,) but because it troubleth his 
stomach ; but now, when his sickness is over, and so his stomach 
eased, his desires being not at all alienated from his vomit, he turns 
him about, and licks up all -, and so it is true which is written, 
"The dog is turned to his own vomit again."* Thus, I say, being 
hot for heaven, by virtue only of the sense and fear of the torments 
of hell ; as their sense of hell, and fear of damnation chills and 
cools, so their desires for heaven and salvation cool also ; so then 
it comes to pass, that when their guilt and fear are gone, their desires 
for heaven and happiness die, and they return to their course again 

2. Another reason is, they have slavish fears, that do over-master 
them. I speak now of the fears that they have of men, for "the 
fear of men bringeth a snare. "f So then, though they seem to be 
hot for heaven so long as the flames of hell are about their ears, 
yet when that terror is a little over, they betake themselves to sec 
ond thoughts, namely, that 'tis good to be wise, and not run, (for 
they know not what,) the hazard of losing all ; or, at least, of 
bringing themselves into unavoidable and unnecessary troubles , 
and so they fall in with the world again. 

3. The shame that attends religion lies also as a block in then 
way ; they are proud and haughty, and religion in their eye is low 
and contemptible ; therefore, when they have lost their sense of 
hell, and the wrath to come, they return again to their former course 

'* 2 Pef. ii. 22. r Prov. xxix. 25. 



208 PILGRIMS PROGRESS, 

4. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to them ; they like 
not to see their misery before they come into it ; though perhaps 
the sight of it at first, if they loved that sight, might make them fly 
whither the righteous run and are safe ; but because they do, as I 
hinted before, even shun the thoughts of guilt and terror, therefore, 
when once they are rid of their awakenings about the terrors and 
wrath of God, they harden their hearts gladly, and choose such 
ways as will harden them more and more. 

Chr. You are pretty near the business, for the bottom of all is. 
for want of a change in their mind and will. And therefore they 
are but like the felon that standeth before the Judge : he quakes 
and trembles, and seems to repent most heartily : but the bottom 
of all is the fear of the halter ; not that he hath any detestation of 
the offence, as is evident, because, let but this man have his liberty, 
and he will be a thief and so a rogue still ; whereas, if his mind 
was changed, he would be otherwise. 

Hope. Now I have showed you the reason of their going back, 
do you show me the manner thereof. 

Chr. So I will willingly. 

1. They draw off their thoughts, all that they 
goelback.^^"^^*^^ "^^7? ^^°"^ ^^® remembrance of God, death, and 
judgment to come. 

2. Then they cast off by degrees private duties, as closet-prayer, 
curbing their lusts, watching, sorrow for sin, and the like. 

3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm Chris- 
tians. 

4. After that, they grow cold to public duty, as hearing, reading, 
godly conference, and the like. 

5. They then begin to pick holes, as we say, in the coats of some 
of the godly, and that devilishly, that they may have a seeming 
colour to throw religion (for the sake of some infirmities they have 
spied in them) behind their backs. 

6. Then they begin to adhere to and associate themselves with 
carnal, loose, and wanton men. 

7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton discourses in secret ; 
and glad are they, if they can see such things in any that are 
counted honest, that they may the more boldly do it through their 
example. 

8. After this they begin to play with little sins openly. 

9. And then, being hardened, they show themselves as they are. 
Thus being launched again into the gulf of misery, unless a mir- 
acle of grace prevent it, they everlastingly perish in their own 
deceivings. 



pilgrim's progress. 209 

Now I saw m my dream, that by this time the Pilgrims were got 
over the Enchanted Ground, and entering into the country of Beu- 
lah,* whose air was very sweet and pleasant, the way lying di- 
rectly through it, they solaced themselves there for a season ; yea, 
here they heard continually the singing of birds, and sav/ every 
day the flowers appear in the earth, and heard the voice of the turtle 
m the land.f In this country, the sun shineth night and day j 
wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death, 
and also out of the reach of Giant Despair ; neither could they from 
this place so much as see Doubting Castle. Here they were within 
sight of the City they were going to ; also here met 
them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this 
land the Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon the 
borders of heaven. In this land also, the contract between the 
bride, and the bridegroom was renewed ; yea, here, " as the bride- 
groom rejoiceth over the bride, so doth their God rejoice over them."| 
Here they had no want of corn and wine ; for m this place they 
met with abundance of what they had sought for in all their pil- 
grimage. § Here they heard voices from out of the city ; loud voi- 
ces, saying, " Say ye to the daughter of Zion, behold, thy salvation 
Cometh ! Behold, his reward is with him !"1| Here all the inhab- 
itants of the country called them, " The holy people, the redeemed 
of the Lord ; sought out," &c. 

Now, as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than 
in parts more remote from the Kingdom to which they were bound ; 
and drawing near to the City, they had yet a more perfect view 
thereof : It was built of pearls and precious stones, also the streets 
thereof were paved with gold ; so that, by reason of the natural 
glory of the City, and the reflection of the sunbeams upon it, 
Christian with desire fell sick. Hopeful also had a fit or two of 
the same disease ; wherefore here they lay by it a while crying 
out, because of their pangs, " If you see my beloved, tell him that 
I am sick of love." 

But being a little strengthened, and better able to bear their sick- 
ness, they walked on their way, and came yet nearer and nearer, 
where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and their gates 
opened into the highway. Now, as they came up to these places, 
behold the Gardener stood in the way ; to whom the Pilgrims said, 
Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are these 1 He answered. 
They are the King's, and are planted here for his own delight, and 
also for the solace of Pilgrims ! So the Gardener had them into 
the vineyards, and bid them refresh themselves with the dain- 

• Isaiah Ixii. 4. t Cant. ii. 12. J Isaiah Ixii. 5. § Ibid, 8, 9 II Ibid. 11, 12. 
18* 



810 pilgrim's progress. 

ies ;* ae also showed them there the King's walks and the arbours, 
where he delighted to be ; and here they tarried and slept. 

Now I beheld in my dream that they talked more in their sleep 
at this time, than ever they did in all their journey ; and being in 
a muse thereabout, the Gardener said even to me, Wherefore 
musest thou at the matter ? . It is the nature of the fruit of the 
grapes of these vineyards " to go down so sweetly, as to cause the 
lips of them that are asleep to speak.f 

So I saw that, when they awoke, they addressed themselves to 
go up to the City. But, as I said, the reflection of the sun upon 
the City, (for the City was pure gold,J) was so extremely glorious, 
that they could not, as yet, with open face, behold it, but through 
an instrument made for that purpose. § So I saw that, as they went 
on, there met them two Men in raiment that shone like gold, also 
their faces shone as the light. 

These Men asked the Pilgrims whence they came ? and they 
told them. They also asked them, where they had lodged, v/hat 
difficulties and dangers, what comforts and pleasures, they had 
met with in the way? and they told them. Then said the Men 
that met them. You have- but two difficulties more to meet with, 
and then you are in the City. 

Christian then, and his companion, asked the Men to go along 
with them : so they told them that they would : But, said they, 
you must obtain it by your own faith. So I saw in my dream that 
they went on together, till they came in sight of the Gate. 

Now, I further saw, that between them and the 

Gate was a River, but there was no bridge to go 

over, and the River was very deep. At the sight, therefore, of this 

River, the Pilgrims were much stunned ; but the Men thatM^ent with 

them said, You must go through, or you cannot come at the Gate. 

The Pilgrims then began to mquire, if there was no other way 

to the Gate ? to which they answered, Yes ; but there hath not 

any, save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah, been permitted to tread 

that path, since the foundation of the world, nor 

to nature though shall until the last trumpet shall sound. The Pil- 

by it we pass out grims then, especially Christian, began to despond, 

of^this world into ^^^ looked this way and that, but could find no 

way by which to escape the River. Then they 

asked the Men, if the waters were all the same depth ? They 

, , , said, No; yet they could not help them in that 

Angels help us not ' ' •' ^ ., r n ^ j v j 

comfortably thro' case : For, said they, you shall find it deeper oi 
death. shallower, as you believe in the King of the placet 

• Deut. zxiii. 24. t CanL vii, 9. J Rev xxi. 18. § 2 Cor. iii. la 




[Christian and Hopeful passing through the River.] 

Then they addressed themselves to the water, and, entering, 
Christian began to sink ; and crying out to his good friend Hopeful, 
he said, " I sink in deep waters ; the billows go over my head ; all 
the waves go over me." Selah. 

Then said the other, Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel the 
Dottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah ! my friend, " the 
sorrow of death hath compassed me about :" I shall not see the 
Land that floweth with milk and honey! and with 
that a great darkness and horror fell upon Chris- at the hour of death 
tian, so that he could not see before him. Also 
here he, m a great measure, lost his senses, so that he could neither 
remember nor orderly talk of any of these sweet refreshments that 
be had met with in the way of his pilgrimage. But all the words 
that he spoke still tended to discover that he had horror of mmd, 
and heart-fearSj that he should die in that River, and never obtain 



21^ pilgrim's progress. 

entrance in at the Gate. Here, also, as they who stood by per- 
ceived, he was much in the troublesome thoughts of the sins he 
had committed, both since and before he began to be a Pilgrim. 
'Twas also observed, that he was troubled with apparitions of hob- 
goblins and evil spirits ; for ever and anon he would intimate so 
much by words. Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep 
his brother's head above water, yea, sometimes he would be quite 
gone down, and then, ere awhile, he would rise up again half dead. 
Hopeful did also endeavour to comfort him, saying. Brother, I see 
the Gate, and Men standing by to receive us : But Christian would 
answer, 'Tis you they wait for: you have been hopeful ever smce 
I knew you : and so have you, said he to Christian. Ah ! brother, 
said he, surely it I were right, He would now arise to help me ; 
out, for my sins. He hath brought me into the snare, and hath left 
me. Then said Hopeful, My brother, you have quite forgot the 
text, where it is said of the wicked, " There are no bands in their 
death, but their strength is firm; they are not troubled as other 
men, neither are they plagued like other men."* These troubles 
and distresses that you go through are no sign that God hath for- 
saken you, but are sent to try you, whether you will call to mind 
that which heretofore you have received of his goodness, and live 
upon him in your distresses. 

Then I saw in my dream that Christian was in a muse awhile ; 
to whom also Hopeful added these words : — " Be of good cheer, 
Jesus Christ maketh thee whole ;" and, with that. Christian brake 
Christian delivered ^ut with a loud voice. Oh ! I see Him again ! and he 
from his fears in tells me, " When thou passest through the waters, 
*^**^- I will be with thee ; and through the rivers, they 

shall not overflow thee." f Then they both took courage, and the 
enemy was, after that, as still as a stone, until they were gone 
over. Christian therefore, presently found ground to stand upon ; 
and so it followed that the rest of the ground was but shallow ; 
The angels do wait ^hus they got over. Now, upon the bank of the 
for thein, so soon River, on the other side^ they saw the two Shmmg 
as they are passed Mg^ again, who there Waited for them : wherefore 
is. wo . i^g jjjg come out of the River, they saluted them, say- 
mg, " We are Ministering Spirits, sent forth to minister to those 
that shall be heirs of salvation." Thus they went along toward 
^he Gate. Now you must note, that the City stood upon a mighty 
hill; but the Pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they 
They have put off ^^^ these two Men to lead them up by the arms: 
mortality. they had likewise left their mortal garments behind 

• Psalm Ixxiii. 4. t Isaiah xliii, 2. 



WLGKIM S PROGRESS. 213 

them m the River; for, though they went in with them, they came 
out without them. They therefore went up here with much agility 
and speed, though the foundation upon which the City was framed 
was higher than the clouds. They therefore went up through the 
region of air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted, be- 
cause they safely got over the River, and had such glorious com- 
panions to attend them. 

The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was about the 
glory of the place, who told them that the beauty and glory of it 
was inexpressible. There, said they, is mount Zion, the heavenly 
Jerusalem, the innumerable company of Angels, and the Spirits of' 
just men made perfect." * You are going now, said they, to the 
Paradise of God, wherein you shall see the Tree of Life, and eat 
of the never-fading fruits thereof; and, when you come there you 
shall have white robes given you, and your walk and talk shall be 
every day with the King, even all the Days of Eternity.f There 
you shall not see again such things as you saw when you v/ere in 
the lower region upon the earth, to wit : sorrow, sickness, affliction 
and death: " for the former things are passed away.":{: You are 
now going to Abraham, to Isaac, and Jacob, and to the Prophets; 
men that God hath taken away from the evil to come, and that are 
now resting upon their beds, each one walking in his righteousness. 
The men then asked, What must we do in the Holy Place? To 
whom it was answered, You must there receive the comforts of all 
your toil, and have joy for all yom* sorrow; you must reap what 
you have sown, even the fruit of all your prayers and tears, and 
sufferings for the King by the way. In that place you must wear 
crowns of gold, and enjoy the perpetual sight and vision of the 
Holy One; "for there you shall see him as he is." § There also 
you shall serve him continually with praise, with shouting, and 
thanksgiving, whom you desired to serve in the world, though with 
much difficulty, because of the infirmity of your flesh. There your 
eyes shall be delighted with seeing, your ears with hearing the 
pleasant voice of the Mighty One. There you shall enjoy your 
friends again that are gone thither before you ; and there you shall 
with joy receive even every one that follows into the Holy Place 
after you. There also you shall be clothed with glory and majesty, 
and put in an equipage fit to ride out with the King of Glory. 
When He shall come with sound of trumpet in the clouds, as upon 
the wings of the wind, you shall come with Him ; 1| and when He 
shall sit upon the Throne of Judgment, you shall sit by Him; yea, 

* Heb. xii. 22-24. Rev. ii. 7.— iii. 4. f Rev. xxii. 5. 

t Ibid, xxi, 2. § 1 John iii. 4. 1 1 Thess. iv. 16. Jude 14. 



214 pilgrim's progress. 

and wnen He shall pass sentence upon all the workers of iniquity, 
let them be angels or men, you also shall have a voice in that 
judgment, because they were His and your enemies.* Also, when 
He shall again return to the City, you shall go too, with sound of 
trumpet, and beaver with him. f 

Now, v/hile they were thus drawing towards the Gate, behold ! 
a company of the Heavenly Host came out to meet them : to whom 
it was said, by the other two Shining Ones, These are the men 
that have loved our Lord, when they were in the world, and that 
have forsaken all for his holy name ; and He hath sent us to fetch 
them, and we have brought them thus far on their desired journey, 
that they may go in and look their Redeemer in the face with joy. 
Then the Heavenly Host gave a great shout, saying, " Blessed are 
they that are called to the marriage-supper of the Lamb." J There 
came out also to meet them several of the King's trumpeters, clothed 
in white and Shining raiment, who, with melodious voices, made 
even the heavens to echo with their sound. These trumpeters 
saluted Christian and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes 
from the world; and this they did with shouting and sound of 
trumpet. 

This done, they compassed them round about on every side : some 
went before, some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the 
left, (as it were to guard them through the upper regions,) contin- 
ually sounding as they went, with melodious noise in notes on high ; 
so that the very sight was, to them that could behold it, as if Heaven 
itself was come down to meet them. Thus, therefore, they walked 
on together; and, as they walked, ever and anon these trumpeters, 
even with joyful sound, would, by mixing their music with looks 
and gestures, still signify to Christian and his brother how wel- 
come they were into their company, and with what gladness they 
came to meet them. And now were these tAvo Men as it were in 
heaven, before they came at it ; being swallowed up with the sight 
of Angels, and with hearing of their melodious notes. Here also 
they had the City itself in view, and they thought they heard all 
(he bells therein to ring, to welcome them thereto ; but, above all, 
the warm and joyful thoughts that they had about their own dwel- 
ling there with such company, and that for ever and ever: — Oh! 
by what tongue or pen can their glorious joy be expressed ! Thus 
they came up to the Gate. ■ 

Now. when they were come up to the Gate, there was written 
over it, in letters of gold : — 

* 1 Cor. VI. 2 t Daii vii. 9, 10. I Rev. xix. 9. 



pilgrim's progress. 213 

"blessed are they that do his commandments, 
that they may have right to the tree of 
life, and may enter in through the gates 
into the city." * 

Then I sawm my dream that the.Shmmg Men bid them call at 
the Gate; the which when they did, some from above looked o^ei 
the Gate, to wit: Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, &c. ; to whom it was 
said. These Pilgrims are come from the city of Destruction, for 
the love that they bear to the King of this place : and then the Pil- 
grims gave in unto them each man his certificate, which they had 
received in the begmning. Those, therefore, were carried in to 
the King, who, when he had read theui, said. Where are the Men ? 
To whom it was answered, Tliey are standing without the Gate. 
The King rhen commanded to open the Gate, "that the righteous 
nation (said he) that keepeth truth may enter in."t 

NoAV I sawinniy dream that these two Men went in at the Gate ; 
and lo ! as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had rai- 
ment put on that shone like gold. There were also that met them 
with harps and crowns, and gave them to them ; the harps to 
praise withal, and the crowns in token of honour. Then I heard 
'ti my dream that all the bells in the City rang again for joy; and 
that it was said unto them : — 

"ENTER YE INTO THE JOY OF OUR LORD."^ 

I also heard the Men themselves sing with a loud voice, saying : — 

"BLESSING, AND HONOUR, AND GLORY, AND POWER 
BE UNTO HEM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE, 
AND UNTO THE LAMB, FOR EVER AND EVER." § 

Now, just as the Gates were opened to let in the Men, I looked 
in after them, and behold the City shone like the sun ; the streets 
also were paved with gold, and in them walked many men with 
crowns upon their heads, palms in their hands, and golden harps 
to sing praises withal. 

There were also of them that had wings ; and they answered 
one another without intermission, saying, " Holy, holy, holy, is 
me Lord." And after that they shut up the Gates ; which, when 
I had seen, 1 wished myself among them. 

Now, while I was gazing upon all these things, ignorance comes 
[ turned my head to look back, and saw Ignorance "P to the River, 
come up to the river-side : but he soon got over, and that without 
half the difficulty which the other two men met with. For it hap- 

•Rev. xxii. 14. t Isaiah xxvi. 2. tMatth. xxv. 23. §Rev. v, 13, 14. 



816 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 



Valn-li(Jpe doei 
ferry him over. 



pened that there was then m that place one Fain- 
hope, a ferryman, that with his boat helped him 
over: so he, as the others, I saw, did ascend the hill to come up to 
the Gate ; only he came alone, neither did any meet him with the 
least encouragement. When he was come up to the Gate, he 
looked up to the writing that was above, and then began to knock, 
supposing that entrance should have been quickly administered to 
him : but he was asked by the Men that looked over the top of the 
Gate, Whence come you 7 and what would you have ? He an- 
swered, I have eat and drank in the presence of the King and he 
has taught in our streets. Then they asked him for his certificate, 
that they might go in and show it to the King. So he fumbled 
in his bosom for one, and found none. Then said they, Have you 
Qone ? But the man answered never a word. So they told the 
King ; but he would not come down to see him, but commanded the 
two Shining Ones that conducted Christian and Hopeful to the 
City, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind him hand and foot, 
and have him away. Then they took him up, and carried him 
through the air, to the door that I saw in the side of the hill, and 
put him in there. Then I saw that there was a way to Hell, even 
from the Gate of Heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction 
So I awoke, and behold it icas a dream. 

rThe Pilgrims passing the River.] 




CONCLUSION 

^iow, reader, I have told my Dream to thee, 

See if thou canst interpret it to me, 

Or to thyself, or neighbour • but take heed 

Of misinterpreting ; for that, instead 

Of doing good, will but thyself abuse 

By mismterpreting, evil ensues. 

Take heed also that thou be not extreme. 
In playing with the outside of my Dream ; 
Nor let my figure or similitude 
Put thee into a laughter or a feud 
Leave this for boys and fools ; but as for thee, 
Do thou the substance of my matter see. 

Put by the curtains, look within the veil. 
Turn up my methphors, and do not fail. 
There, if thou seekest them, such things thou'lt fmd, 
As will be helpful to an honest mind. 

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold 
To throw away, but yet preserve the gokl. 
What if my gold be wrapped up in ore 1 
None throws away the apple for the core ; 
But if thou shalt cast all away as laiT, 
I know not but 't will make me dream again. 



THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS 10 COME: 

DELIVERED UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM. 

PART II., 

WHEREIN ARE SET FORTH, 

THE MANNER OF THE SETTING OUT OF CHRISTIAN'S 

WIFE AND CHILDREN, 

THEIR DANGEROUS JOURNEY; 

AND SAFE ARRIVAL AT THE DESIRED COUNTRY. 

BY JOHN BUNYAN. 

"I HAVE USED SIMILITUDE^"— HQSEA. C XU- v. W. 



THE 

AUTHOR'S WAY OF SENDING FORTH 

HIS 

SECOND PART OF THE PILGRIM. 



Go now, my little Book, to every place. 

Where my First Pilgrim has but shown his face : 

Call at their door • if any say. Who '5 there I 

Then answer thou, Christiana is here. 

If they bid thee come in, then enter thou, 

With all thy boys ; and then, as thou know'st how, 

Tell who they are, also from whence they came ; 

Perhaps they '11 know them by their looks, or name . 

But if they should not, ask them yet again, 

If formerly they did not entertain 

One Christian, a Pilgnm ? If they say, 

They did, and were delighted in his way ; 

Then let them know that these related were 

Unto him ; yea, his Wife and Children are. 

Tell them, that they have left their house and home 
Are turned Pilgrims ; seek a World to come ; 
That they have met with hardships in the way ; 
That they do meet with troubles night and day; 
That they have trod on serpents ; fought with Devils ; 
Have also overcome a many evils. 
Yea, tell them also of the next who have, 
Of love to Pilgrimage, been stout and brave 
Defenders of that Way ; and how they still 
Refuse this World to do their Father's will. 

Go tell them also of those dainty things 
That Pilgrunage unto the Pilgrim brings. 
Let them acquainted be, too, how they are 
Beloved of their King, under his care ; 
What goodly mansions for them he provides ; 
Though they meet with rough winds and swelling tides, 
How brave a calm they will enjoy at last. 
Who to the/r Lord, and by his ways hold fas*. 
221 19'^ 



Perhaps, with heart and hand, they will embrace 
Thee, as they did my Firstling ; and will grace 
Thee and thy fellows with such cheer and fare. 
As show will, they of Pilgrims lovers are. 

FIRST OBJECTION. 

But how, if they will not believe of me , 
That I am truly thine 1 'cause some there be 
That counterfeit the Pilgrim and his name, 
Seek, by disguise, to seem the very same ; 
And by that means have wrought themselves into 
The hands and houses of I know not who. 



'T is true, some have, of late, to counterfeit 
My Pilgrim, to their own my title set ; 
Yea, others half my name, and title too. 
Have stitched to their books, to make them do. 
But yet they, by their features do declare 
Themselves not mine to be, whose e'er they are. 

If such thou meet'st with, then thine only way, 
Before them all, is to say nut thy say, 
In thine own native language, which no man 
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can. 

If, after all, they still of you shall doubt, 
Thinking that you, like Gipsies, go about 
In naughty-wise the country to defile ; 
Or that you seek good people to beguile 
With things unwarrantable ; send for me. 
And I will testify you Pilgrims be ; 
Yea, I will testify that only you 
My Pilgrims are ; and that alone will do. 

SECOND OB'jECTION. 

But yet, perhaps I may inquire for him 
Of those who wish him damned life and limb. 
What shall I do, when I at such a door 
For Pilgrims ask, and they shall rage the more 1 

ANSWER. 

Fright not thyself, my Book, for such bugbears 
Are nothing else but ground for groundless fears. 
My Pilgrim's book has travell'd sea and land. 
Yet could I never come to understand 
That it was slighted or turn'd out of door, 
By any Kingdom, were they rich or po©r. 



22a 



In France and Flanders, where men kill each other, 
My Pilgrim is esteem'd a friend, ^ brother. 

In Holland too, 'tis said, as I am told, 
My Pilgrim is, with some, worth more than gold. 

Highlanders, and wild Irish can agree, 
My Pilgrim should familiar with them be. 

'T is in New England under such advance, 
Receives there so much loving countenance, 
As to be trimm'd, new cloth'd, and deck'd with gemfi 
That it might show its features, and its limbs. 
Yet more ; so comely doth my Pilgrim walk, 
That of him thousands daily sing and talk. 

If you draw nearer home, it will appear, 
My Pilgrim knows no ground of shame or fear ; 
City and country will him entertam, 
With welcome Pilgrim ; yea, they can't refram 
From smiling, if my Pilgrim be but by, 
Or shows his head in any company. 

Brave gallants do my Pilgrim hug and love, 
Esteem it -nuch, yea, value it above 
Things of a greater bulk ; yea, with deligh 
Say, my lark's leg is better than a kite. 

Young Ladies and yov:3g Gentlewomen too. 
Do no small kindness to my Pilgrim shew : 
Their cabinets, their bosoms, and their hearts. 
My Pilgrim has ; 'cause he to them imparts 
His pretty riddles in such wholesome strains, 
As yield them profit double to their pains 
Of reading ; yea, I think I may be bold 
To say some prize him far above their gold. 

The very Children that do walk the street. 
If they do but my holy Pilgrim meet. 
Salute him will ; will wish him well, and say, 
He is the only Stripling of the day. 

They that have never seen him, yet admire 
What they have heard of him, and much desire 
To have his company, and hear him tell 
Those pilgrim stories which he knows so well. 

Yea, some who did not love him at the first. 
But call'd him fool and noddy, say they must, 
Now they have seen and heard him, him commend, 
And to those whom they love they do him send. 

Wherefore, my Second Part, thou needst not b« 
Afraid to show thy head : none can hurt thee. 
That wish but well to him that went before . 
'Cause thou com'st after with a second istore 



224 



Of things as good, as rich, as profitable, 

For young or old, for staggering, and for stable. 

THIRD OBJECTION. 

But some there be that say. He laughs too loud ; 
And some do say, His head is in a cloud. 
Some say, His words and stories are so dark, 
They know not how, by them, to find his mark. 



One may, I think, say, both his laughs and cries 
May well be guess'd at by his watery eyes. 
Some things are of that nature, as lo make 
One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache • 
When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep. 
He did at the same time both kiss and weep. 

Whereas some say, A cloud is in his head .• 
That doth but show his wisdom's covered 
With its own mantle. And to stir the mind 
To a search after what it fain would find, 
Things that seem to be hid in words obscure 
Do but the godly mind the more allure 
To study what those sayings should contain, 
That speak to us in such a cloudy strain. 

I also know a dark similitude 
Will on the fancy more itself intrude, 
And will stick faster in the heart and head. 
Than things from similies not borrowed. 

Wherefore, my Book, let no discouragement 
Hinder thy travels. Behold ! thou art sent 
To friends, not foes ; to friends that will give plac« 
To thee, thy Pilgrims, and thy words embrace. 

Besides, what my First Pilgrim left conceal'd. 
Thou, my brave Second Pilgrim, hast reveal'd ; 
What Christian left lock'd up, and went his way, 
Sweet Christiana opens with her key. 

FOURTH OBJECTION 

But some love not the method of your first ; 
Romance they count it ; throw't away as dust. 
If I should meet with such, what should I say % 
Must I slight them as they slight me, or nay % 

ANSWER. 

My Christiana, if with such thou meet 
Bv all means, in all loving wise, them greet 



2^5 



Render them not reviling for revile ; 

But, if they frown, I pr'ythee on them smile : 

Perhaps 'tis nature, or some ill report, 

Has made them thus despise ; or thus retort 

Some love no fish, some love no cheese, and some 
Love not their friends, nor their own house or home ; 
Some start at pig, slight chicken, love not fowl, 
More than they love a cuckoo, or an owl. 
Leave such, my Christiana, to their choice, 
And seek those who to find thee will rejoice : 
By no means strive, but, in most humble wise, 
Present thee to them in thy Pilgrim's guise. 

Go then, my little Book, and show to all 
That entertain, and bid thee Welcome shall. 
What thou shalt keep close shut up from the rest , 
And wish what thou shalt show them, may be blest 
To them for good, may make them choose to be 
Pilgrims better by far than thee or me. 

Go then, I say, tell all men who thou art ;. 
Say, I am Christiana ; and my part 
Is now, with my four sons, to tell you what 
It is for men to take a Pilgrim's lot. 

Go, also, tell them who and what they be 
That now do go on pilgrimage with thee , 
Say, Here's my neighbour Mercy ; she is one 
That has long time with me a Pilgrim gone ; 
Come, see her in her virgin face, and learn 
'Twixt idle ones and Pilgrims to discern. 
Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize 
The World which is to come, in any wise. 
When little tripping maidens follow God, 
And leave old doting sinners to hio rod, 
'Tis like those days wherein the young ones cried, 
Hosanna to whom old ones did deride. 

Next tell them of old Honest, whom you found. 
With his white hairs treading the Pilgrim's ground 
Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was. 
How after his good Lord he bare his Cross. 
Perhaps with some gray head this may prevail 
With Christ to fall in love, and sin bewail. '' 

Tell them also, how Master Fearing went 
On pilgrimage, and how the time he spent 
In solitariness, with fears and cries ; 
And how, at last, he won the joyful prize. 
He was a good man, though much down m spirit ; 
He IS a good man, and doth life inherit. 



226 PREFACE. 

Tell them of Master Feeble-mind also, 
Who not before, but still behind would go. 
Shew them also, how he had like been slain, 
And how one Great-heart did his life regain. 
This man was true of heart, though weak in grace ; 
One might true godliness read in his face. 

Then tell them of Master Ready-to-halt, 
A man with crutches, but much without fault; 
Tell them how Master Feeble-mind and he 
Did love, and in opinions much agree 
And let all know, though weakness was their chan-jo. 
Yet sometimes one could sing, the other dance. 

Forget not Master Valiant-for-thc-truth, 
That man of courage, though a very youth : 
Tell every one his spirit was so stout, 
No man could ever make him face about ; 
A nd how Great-heart and he could not forbear, 
But put down Doubting Castle, slay D|espair . 

Overlook not Master Despondency, 
Nor Much-afraid his daughter, though they lie 
Under such mantles, as may make them look 
(With some) as if their God had them forsook. 
They softly went, but sure ; and, at the end. 
Found that the Lord of Pilgrims v\'as their friend. 

When thou hast told the world of all these things, 
Then turn about, my Book, and touch these strings -, 
, Which, if but touched, will such music make, 
They'll make a Cripple dance, a Giant quake. 

Those riddles that lie couch'd within thy breast, 
Freely propound, expound ; and for the rest 
Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain 
For those whose nimole fancies shall them gain. 

Now, may this little book a blessing be 
To those that love this little dook and me ; 
And may its buyer have no cause to say, 
His money is but lost, or thrown away • 
Yea, may this second pilgrim yield that fruit, 
As may with each good Pilgrim's fancy suit • 
And may it persuade some that go astray. 
To turn their foot and heart to the right way, 

Is the hearty prayer of the Author, 

JOHN BUNYAIM. 




[Tlie A-uthor awoke from his seconrl liream.j 

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 



IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM 
Courteous Companions : — 

OME time since, to tell you my dream 
that I had of Christian the Pilgrim, and 
of his dangerous journey toward the Ce- 
lestial Country, was pleasant to me,^ and 
profitable to you. I told you then also 
what I saw concerning his Wife and 
Children, and how unwilling they were 
to go with him on pilgrimage ; insomuch 
that he was forced to go on his Progres£ 
without them ; for he durst not run the danger of that destruction 
vhich he feared would come, by staying with them in the City of 
227 




228 P^LGRIM^a FHOCfaESS. 

Detitruction. Wherefore, as I then showed you, he left tXi^va^ and 
departed. 

Now it hath so happened, through the midtiplicity of business 
that I have been mach hindered and kepi back from my wonted 
travels into those parts whence he went ; and so could not, till noWy 
obtain an opportunity to nmke further inquiry after whom he left 
behind, that I might give you an account of them. But having had 
soHie concerns that way of late, I went down again thitherwards 
NoAV, having taken up my lodgings in a wood, about a mile off the 
place, as I slept, I dreamed agam. 

And as I was in my dream, behold an aged Gentleman came by 
where 1 lay ; and because he was to go some part of the way that 
I was travelling, methought I got u^p, and went with him. So, as 
we walked, and as travellers usually do, I was as if we fell into a 
discourse, and our talk happened to be about Christian and his 
travels ; for thus 1 began with the aid man. 

Sir, said I, what town is that there below, that lieth on the left 
hand of our way ? 

Then said Mr. Sagacitf^ for that was his name. It is the City 
of Destruction, a populous place, but possessed with a very ill- 
conditioned and idle sort of people. 

I thought that was the City, quoth I : I went once myself through 
that town, and therefore know that this report you give of it is true. 

Sag. Too true : I wish I could speak truth in speaking better 
of them that dwell therein. 

Well, sir, quoth I, then I perceive you to be a well-naeaning man, 
and so one that takes pleasure to hear and tell of that which is 
good. Pray, did you never hear what happened to a man some 
time ago of this town, (whose name was Christian,) that went on 
a pilgrimage up towards the higher regions ? 

Sag. Hear of him ! Ay ; and I also heard of the molestations, 
troubles, wars, captivities, cries, groans, frights, and fears, that he 
met with and had in his journey ; besides, I must tell you, all our 
country rings of him. There are but few houses that have heard 
of him and his doings, but have sought after and got the Records 
of his Pilgrimage ; yea, I think I may say, that his hazardous jour- 
ney has got a many well-wishers to his ways ; for though, when 
he was here, he was Fool in every man's mouth, 
Christians are well yet, now he is gone, he is highly commended of 
spoken of when ^11. For 't IS said he lives bravely where he is ; 
fo "is' ^whife *^they Y^^J many of them that are resolved never to run 
areher«. his hazards, yet have their mouths water at his 

gains. 



pilgrim's progress 229 

They may, quoth I, well think, if they think any thing that is 
Irue, that he liveth well where he is : for he now lives at and in 
the Fountain of Life, and has what he has without labour and sor- 
row, for there is no grief mixed therewith. But pray, what talk 
Aave the people about him ? 

Sag-. Talk ! the people talk strangely about him. Some say 
hat he now walks in white ;* that he has a chain of gold about nis 
neck ; that he has a crown of gold, beset with pearls, upon his 
head. Others say, that the Shining Ones that sometimes showed 
themselves to him in his journey are become his companions, and 
that he is as familiar with them in the place where he is, as here 
one neighbour is with another. Besides, 'tis confidently affirmed 
concerning him, that the King of the place where he is, has be- 
stowed upon him already a very rich and pleasant dwelling at 
Court, and that he every day eateth and drinketh, and walketh and 
talketh with him, and receiveth of the smiles and favours of him 
that is Judge of all there. f Moreover, it is expected of some, that 
his Prince, the Lord of that Country, will shortly come into these 
parts, and will know the reason, if they can give any, why his 
neighbours set so little by him, and had him so much in derision, 
when they perceived that he would be a Pilgrim.:[' For they say 
that now he is so in the affections of his Prince, p, . ,. , ^. 

, , . ^ . . , 1 . , 1 Christian's King 

that his Sovereign is so much concerned with the will take Chrit 
indignities that were cast upon Christian when he tian'spart. 
became a Pilgrim, that he will look upon all as if done unto him 
self; and no marvel, for 't was for the love that he had to his Princi 
that he ventured as he did. 

I dare say, quoth I ; I am glad on't ; I am glad for the poor Man's 
sake, for that now he has rest from his labour, and for that he now 
reapeth the benefit of his tears with joy ; and for that he is got be- 
yond the gunshot of his enemies, and is out of the reach of 
them that hate him.§ I also am glad, for that a rumour of these 
ihings is noised abroad in this Country ; who can tell but that it 
may work some good effect on some that are left behind ? But pray, 
sir, while it is fresh m my mind, do you hear any thing of his Wife 
and Children 7 Poor hearts, I wonder in my mind what they do. 

Sag. Who ? Christiana and her sons ! They g,^^^ ^j^jj^^g ^^ 
are like to do as well as Christian did himself; for Christian's wife 
though they all played the fool at first, and would ^nd children, 
by no means be persuaded by either the tears or entreaties of Chris 
tian, yet second thoughts have wrought wonderfully with them , 
so they have packed up, and are also gone after him. 

• Rev. iii. 4. t Zech. iii. 7. I Jude 14, 15. § Rev. xiv. 13. Psalm, cxxvi. b, 6. 
20 



230 pilgrim's progress. 

Better and better, quoth I ; but what, Wife and Children and all 7 

Sag. 'Tis true ; I can give you an account of the matter, for I 
was upon the spot at the instant, and was thoroughly acquainted 
with the whole affair. 

Then said I, a man, it seems, may report it for a truth. 

Sag. You need not fear to affirm it ; I mean, that they are all 
gone on pilgrimage, both the good Woman and her four boys. And 
being we are, as I perceive, going some considerable way together, 
I will give you an account of the whole of the matter. 

This Christiana, (for that was her name from the day that she 
with her children betook herself to a Pilgrim's life,) after her hus- 
band was gone over the River, and she could hear of him no more, 
her thoughts began to work in her mind : First, for that she had 
lost her Husband, and for that loving bond of that relation was 
utterly broken betwixt them. For you know, (said he to me,) na- 
ture can do no less but entertain the living with many a heavy 
cogitation in the remembrance of the loss of loving relations. This, 
Mark this vouthat therefore, of her Husband did cost her many a tear. 
are churls 'to your But this was not all : for Christiana did also begin 
godly relations. iq consider with herself, whether her unbecoming 
behaviour towards her Husband was not one cause that she saw 
liim no more; and that in such sort he was taken away from her. 
And upon this came into her mind, by swarms, all her unkind, 
unnatural, and ungodly carriage to her dear friend; which also 
clogged her conscience, and did load her with guilt. She was, 
moreover, much broken with recalling to remembrance the restless 
groans, brinish tears, and self-bemoanings of her Husband ; and 
how she did harden her heart against all his entreaties and loving 
persuasions of her and her sons to go with him; yea, there was not 
any thing that Christian either said to her, or did before her, all 
the while that his Burden did hang on his back, but it returned 
upon her like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of her heart 
in sunder ; specially that bitter outcry of his, " What shall I do to 
be saved P'' did ring in her ears most dolefully. 

Then said she to her children. Sons, we are all undone ! I have 
sinned away your Father, and he is gone ; he would have had us 
with him, but T would not go myself; I also have hindered you 
of Life. With that the boys fell all into tears, and cried out to go 
after their Father. Oh ! said Christiana, that it had been but our 
lot to go with him, then had it fared well with us,, beyond wJiat 
'tis like to do now. For though I fonnerly foolishly imagined, 
concerning the troubles of your Father, that they proceeded of a 
foolish fancy that he had, or for tliat he was overrun with melan- 



pilgrim's progress. 231 

eholy humours ; yei now it will not out of iry mmd but that they 
sprang from another cause, to wit, for that the Lij^ht of Light was 
given him :* by the help of which, as I perceive, he has escaped 
the snares of Death. Then they all wept again, and cried out, 
" Oh wo worth the day !" 

The next night Christiana had a dream ; and 

.«■■■. T^ 1 J Christiana's dreant 

toehold she saw as if a broad Parchment was opened 
before her, in which was recorded the sum of her ways ; and the 
times, as she thought, looked very Mack upon her. Then she 
cried out aloud in her sleep, " Lord have mercy upon me a sin 
ner!"-\ And the little children heard her. 

After this, she thought she saw two very ill-favoured Ones stand- 
ing by her bedside, and saying, " What shall we do j^^rk this; this is 
with this woman ? for she cries out for mercy the quintessence 
waking and sleeping? if she be suffered to go on ''^^^^• 
as she begins, we shall lose her as we have lost her husband. 
Wherefore we must, by one way or other, seek to take her oflf from 
the thoughts of what shall be hereafter, else all the world cannot 
help but she will become a Pilgrim." 

Now she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling was upon her ; 
but after a while, she fell to sleeping again. And Help against dis- 
then she thought she saw Christian, her husband, couragement. 
In a place of bliss, among many Immortals, with a Harp in his 
hand, standing and playing upon it before One that sat upon a 
Throne, with a rainbow about His head. She saw also as if he 
bowed his head, with his face to the paved work that was under 
his Prince's feet, saying, " I heartily thank my Lord and King for 
bringing me into this place." Then shouted a company of them 
that^'stood round about, and harped with their harps ; but no man 
living could tell what they said, but Christian and his companions. 
Next morning, when she was up, had prayed to God, and talked 
with her children a while, one knocked hard at the door: to whom 
she spake, saying. If thou comest in God's name, come in. So he 
said. Amen, and opened the door, and saluted her with ''Peace be 
to this hoitse." The which when he had done, he said, Christiana, 
knowest thou wherefore I am come ? Then she blushed and trem- 
bled ; also her heart began to wax warm with desires to know from 
whence he came, and what was his errand to her. So he said unto 
her. My name is Secret; I dwell with those that ^^^^.^^.^^^ ^^^. 
are on high. It is talked of where I dwell, as if onded by tidings of 
thou hadst a desire to go thither : also there is a God's readiness to 
yeport that thou art aware of the evil thou hast P^^don. 

• Jnmes i. 23, 24, 2n. t Lnke x^'ii. 13. 




[The Mission of Secret to Christiana and Children. 1 

formerly done to thy husband, in hardening of ihy heart against his 
way and in keeping of these habes m their ignorance. Christiana, 
the Merciful One hath sent me to tell thee, that he is a God ready 
to forgive, and that He taketh delight to multiply the pardon of 
offences. He also would have thee to know, that He invited thee 
to come into his presence, to his table, and that He will feed thee 
with the fat of his house, and with the heritage of Jacob thy father. 

There is Christian thy husband that was, with legions more, 
his companions, ever beholding that Face that doth minister life 
to beholders ; and they will all be glad when they shall hear the 
sound of thy feetstep over thy Father's threshold. 

Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, and bowing 
her head to the ground, this Visiter proceeded and said, Christiana, 
here is also a letter for thee, which I have brought to thee from thy 
husband's King. So she took it, and opened it, but it smelt after 
the manner of the best perfume;* also it was written in letters of 
gold. The contents of the letter were these : — " That the King 
would have her to do as did Christian her husband, for that was 
the way to come to his City, and to dwell in his Presence with 

Christiana quite ]^Y for ever." At this the good woman was quite 

overcome. overcome ; so she cried out to her Visiter, " Sir, 



• Song i. 3. 



2:]2 



pilgrim's PR0UKES3. 233 

will you carry me and my children with you, that we also may go 
and worship the Kin^^ ?" 

Then said the Visiter, Christiana, the hitter is Farther instruc- 
before the sweet. Thou must through troubles, as tions to Christiana. 
did he that went before thee, enter this Celestial City. Wherefore 
I advise thee to do as did Christian thy husband ; go to the Wicket- 
Gate yonder over the plain, for that stands at the head of the way 
up which thou must go, and I wish thee all good speed. Also I 
advise that thou put this Letter in thy bosom; that thou read 
therein to thyself, and to thy children, until you have got it by 
root-of-heart ; for it is one of the songs that thou must sing while 
thou art in this House of thy Pilgrimage ; * also this thou must 
deliver in at the farther Gate. 

Now I saw in my dream, that this old Gentleman, as he told 
me the story, did himself seem to be greatly affected therewith. 
He moreover proceeded and said. So Christiana called her sons 
together, and began thus to address herself unto Christiana prays 
them: My sons, I have, as you may perceive, been well for her jour- 
of late under much exercise in my soul about the ^^y- 
death of your Father ; not for that I doubt at all of his happiness, 
for I am satisfied now that he is well. I have also been much 
affected with the thoughts of mine own state and yours, which I 
verily believe is by nature miserable. My carriage also to your 
Father in his distress is a great load to my conscience ', for I hard- 
ened both mine own heart and yours against him, and refused to 
go with him on Pilgrimage. 

The thoughts of these things would now kill me outright, but 
that for a dream which I had last night, and but that for the en- 
couragement that this Stranger has given me this morning. Come, 
my children, let us pack up and be gone to the Gate that leads to 
the Celestial Country, that we may see your Father, and be with 
him and his companions in peace, according to the laws of that land. 

Then did her children burst out into tears, for joy that the heart 
of their Mother was so inclined; so their Visiter bid them farewell, 
and they began to prepare to set out for their journey. 

But while they were thus about to be gone, two Timorous and Mer- 
of the women that were Christiana's neighbours cy, come to visit 
came up to her house, and knocked at her door ; to Christiana, 
whom she said as before. If you come in God^s name, come in ! 
At this the women were stunned, for this kind of Christiana's new 
language they used not to hear, or to perceive to language stuns her 
drop from the lips of Christiana. Yet they came in ; °^^ neighbours. 

* Psalm cxix. 54, 
20* 




[Christiana and her sons.] 

out behold they found the good Woman preparing to be gone from 
her house. 

So they began, and said, Neighbour, pray what is your meaning 
by this ? 

Christiana answered and said to the eldest of them, whose 
name was Mrs. Timorous, I am preparing for a journey. (This 
Timorous was daughter to him that met Christian upon the 
hill of Difficulty, and would have had him go back for fear of 
the Lions.) 

Tim. For what journey, I pray you ? 

Chr. Even to go after my good husband. And with that she 
fell a-weeping. 

Tim, I hope not so, good neighbour; pray, for your poor chil- 
dren's sake, do not so unwoma^W cast away yourself. 
234 



mlgrim's progress. 235 

Chr. Nay, my children shall go with me, not one of them is 
*^v, \mg to stay behind. 

Tim. I wonder in my very heart what or who has brought you 
vito this mind ! 

Chr. Oh ! neighbour, knew you but as much as I do, I doubt 
lot but that you would go with me. 

Tim. Pr'ythee, what new knowledge hast thou got, that so 
rorketh off thy mind from thy friends, and that tempteth thee to 
go nobody knows where ? 

Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely afflicted since my 
husband's departure from me ; but especially since 
he went over the River. But that which troubleth 
me most is my churlish carriage to him when he was under his 
distress. Besides, I am now as he was then; nothing will serve 
me but going on Pilgrimage. I was a-dreaming last night that I 
saw him. O that my soul was with him ! He dwelleth m the 
presence of the King of the country ; he sits and eats Avith Him at 
his table ; he is become a companion of Immortals^ and has a house 
now given him to dwell in, to which the best palace on earth, if 
compared, seems to me but as a dunghill. * The Prince of the 
Place has also sent forme, with promise of entertainment, if I shall 
come to him ; his messenger was here even now, and has brought 
me a Letter, which invites me to come. And with that she plucked 
out her Letter, and read it, and said to them, What now will you 
say to this ? 

Tim. Oh ! the madness that has possessed thee and thy hus- 
band, to run yourselves upon such difficulties ! You have heard, 
I am sure, what your husband did meet with, even in a manner, 
at the first step that he took on his way, as our neighbour Obsti- 
nate can yet testify, for he went along with him, yea, and Pliable 
too ; until they, like wise men, were afraid to go any farther. We 
also heard, over and above, how he met with the Lions, Apollyon, 
the Shadow of Death, and many other things. Nor 
is the danger he met with at Vanity-Fair to be for- jhe^flesiu°^'"^^ ° 
gotten by thee : for if he, though a Man, was so 
hard put to it, what canst ihou, being but a poor Woman, do ? Con- 
sider also that these four sweet babes are thy children, thy flesh 
and thy bones. Wherefore, though thou should st be so rash as to 
cast away thyself, yet, for the sake of the fruit of thy body, keep 
thou at home. 

But Christiana said unto her. Tempt me not, my neighbour ; I 
have now a prize put into my hands to get gain, and t should hi a. 

* 2 Cor. V. 1-3. 



23G P1LG11IM*S PROGRESS. 

fool of the greatest size, if I should have no heart to strike in with 
the opportunity. And for that you tell me of all these troubles 
that 1 am like to meet with in the way, they are so far off from 
A pertinent reply being to me a discouragement, that they show 1 
to fleshly reason- am in the right. " The hitter must come before 
^"S- the sweety'''' and that also will make the sweet the 

sweeter. Wherefore, since you came not to my house in GofVs 
name, as I said, I pray you to be gone, and not to disquiet me 
farther. 

Then Timorous all-to-reviled her, and said to her fellow, Come, 
neighbour Mercy, let us leave her in her own hands, since she 
scorns our counsel and company. But Mercy was at a stand, and 
could not so readily comply with her neighbour, and that for a two- 
Mercy's bowels ^^^^ reason. 1. Her bowels yearned over Chris- 
yearn over Chris- tiana. So she said within herself. If my neighbour 
tiana. -^iH needs be gone, I will go a little way with her, 

and help her. 2. Her bowels yearned over her own soul ; for what 
Christiana had said had taken some hold upon her mind. Where- 
fore she said within herself again, I will yet have more talk with 
this Christiana, and if I find truth and life in what she shall say, 
myself with my heart shall also go with her. Wherefore Mercy 
began thus to reply to her neighbour Timorous : 

Mercy. Neighbour, I did indeed come with you to see Christiana 
this morning ; and since she is, as you see, a taking of her last 
farewell of her country, I think to walk this sunshiny morning a 
little with her to help her on her way. But she told her not of her 
second reason, but kept it to herself. 

Tim. Well, I see you have a mind to go a-fooling too ; but take 
heed in time, and be wise : while we are out of danger, we are 
Timorous forsakes 0^* ; but when we are in, we are in. So Mrs. 
her, but Mercy Timorous returned to her house, and Christiana 
cleaves to her. betook herself to her journey. But when Timor- 
ous was got home to her house, she sends for some of her neigh- 
bours, to wit, Mrs. Bafs-eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Light- 
„. ^ „ mind, and Mrs. Know-nothing. So when they 

Timorous tells ' , , i /. 1 1 ■,■,. „ -, 

her friends what Were come to her house, she falls to tellmg of the 
the good Christiana story of Christiana, and of her intended journey. 
intends to do. And thus she began her tale :— 

Neighbours, having had little to do this morning, I went to give 
Christiana a visit, and when I came at the door, I knocked, as you 
know't IS our custom ; and she answered, " If you come in God^s 
name, come in." So in I went, thinking all was well ; but when 
I came in I found her preparing herself to depart the town, she 



pilgrim's progress. 237 

and also her children. So I asked her, what was her meaning by 
that ? and she told me in short, That she was now of a mind to go 
on pilgrimage, as did her husband. She told me also of a dream 
that she had, and how the King of the Country where her husband 
was had sent her an inviting letter to come thither. 
Then said Mrs. Know-nothing, And what ! do ^. „ 

, ,„ -, =" Mrs. Know-nothing 

you tnmk she will go ? 

Tim. Ay, go she will, whatever comes on't; and methinks I 
know it by this ; — for that which was my great argument to per- 
suade her to stay at home, (to wit, the troubles she was like to meet 
with on the way,) is one great argument with her to put her for- 
ward on her jom-ney. For she told me, in so many words, " The 
hitter goes before the sweet ; yea, and for as much as it so doth, it 
makes the sweet the sweeter." 

Mrs. Bafs-eyes. Oh ! this blind and foolish 
woman ! said she ; and will she not take warning 
by her Husband's afflictions ? For my part, I see, if he were here 
again, he would rest himself content in a whole skin, and never 
run so many hazards for nothing. 

Mrs. Inconsiderate also replied, saymg, Away „ , 

, -- . 1 I. ^ (. ■, •'=" ■' Mrs. Inconsiderate. 

With such fantastical lools irom the town ; a good 
riddance, for ray part, I say of her. Should she stay where she 
dwells, and retain this her mind, who could live quietly by her ? 
for she will either be dumpish or unneighbourly, or talk of such 
matters as no wise body can abide ; wherefore, for my part, I shall 
never be sorry for her departure ; let her go, and let better come in 
her room ; 'twas never a good world since these whimsical fools 
dwelt in it. 

Then Mrs. Light-mind added as followeth. „ ,. ^ . ^ 

_, 1 . 1 ■ 1 p n T 1 Mrs. Light-mind. 

Come, put this kind of talk away. I was yesterday 
at Madam Wanton's, where we were as merry as sh^t^hathaTSew 
the Maids. For who do you think should be there, have been too hard 
but I and Mrs. Love-the-flesh, and three or four ^^"^ Faithful, in 
more, with Mrs. Lechery, Mrs. Filth, and some oth- ^™® P^^^' 
ers ; so there we had music and dancing, and what else was meet to 
fill up the pleasure. And I dare say my lady herself is an admira- 
bly well-bred gentlewoman, and Mr. Lechery is as pretty a fellow. 
By this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy went 
along with her. So as they went, her children be- Discourse betwixi 
mg there also, Christiana began to discourse. And Mercy and good 
Mercy, said Christiana, I take this as an unexpected ^h'^'stiana. 
favour, that thou shouldst set forth out of doors with me, to accom-- 
pany me a little in my way. 




Mercy inclines to 
go. 



(Christiana, her children, and Mercy, setoff.] 

Then said young Mercy, (for she was out young,^ 
if I thought it would be to purpose to go with you, 
I would never go near the Town any more. 
Well, Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy lot with me ; I wel\ 
know what will be the end of our pilgrimage. My husband is 
where he would not but be for all the gold in the Spanish mines ; 
nor shalt thou be rejected, though thou goest but upon my invita- 
tion. Tlie King, who hath sent for me and my children, is one that 
delighteth in mercy. Besides, if thou wilt, I will hire thee, and 
thou shalt go along with me as my servant ; yet we will have all 
things in common betwixt thee and me ; only go along with me. 

Mercy. But how shall I be ascertained that 1 

^celi2.nTt^^ °^ also shall be entertained ? Had I this hope but 

from one that can tell. I would make no stick at all, 



out would go, being helped by Hini that can help, though the way 
was never so tedious. 

Chr. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee wliat 
thou shalt do : go with me to the Wicket-Gate, and her 't^" he^ Gaxe 
there I will further inquire for thee ; and if there which is Christi 
thou shalt not meet with encouragement, I will be and promises there 

^ . , . ,1 T -n 1 to inquire for her. 

content that thou return to thy place ; I will also 

pay thee for thy kindness which thou showest to me and my chil 

dren in the accompanying of us in our way as thou dost. 

Alercy. Then will I go thither, and will take 
what shall follow ; and the Lord grant that my lot ' ^^ ^^^' 
may there fall, even as the King of heaven shall have his heart 
upon me. 

Christiana then was glad at her heart, not only 
that she had a companion, but also for that she had MercV's^'^ompany 
prevailed with this poor Maid to fall in love with 
her own salvation. So they went on together, and Mercy began 
to weep. Then said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth my sister so ? 

Alas ! said she, Avho can but lament that shall ^q^cv grie 8 fw 
but rightly consider what a state and condition my her carna ftift 
poor relations are in, that yet remain in our sinful *^i°"s- 
Town ? And that which makes my grief the more heavy is, be- 
cause they have no instructer, nor any to tell them what is to come. 

Chr. Bowels become Pilgrims : and thou dost weep for thy 
friends, as my good Christian did for me when he left me ; he 
mourned for that I would not heed nor regard him ; ^, . . . 

1 , . T 1 1 T 1 1 1 • 1 Christian's pray- 

'Ut his Lord and ours did gather up his tears, and ers were answered 
, at them into His bottle ; and now both I and thou, for his relations 
^nd these my sweet babes, are reaping the fruit ^^^^ ^^ "^""^ '^^^'^• 
and benefit of them. I hope, Mercy, that these tears of thine will 
not be lost ; for the Truth hath said, that " they that sow in tears 
shall reap in joy ; and he that go eth forth and weepeth, hearing 
precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bring- 
ing his sheaves with him"* 
Then said Mercy : — 

Let the most Blessed be my guide 

If it be His blessed will, 
Unto his gate, into his fold, 

Up to his Holy Hill. 
And let Him never suffer me 

To swerve or turn aside 
From his Free Grace and holy Ways, 

Whate'er shall me betide. 

• Psalm cxxvi, 5. 6 



240 PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

And let Ilim gather them of mine 

That I have left behind ; 
Lord, make them pray they may be thine. 

Wiih all their heart and mind. 

Now, my old friend proceeded, and said : But when Christiana 
came to the slough of Despond, she began to be at a stand ; for, 
said she, this is the place in which my dear Husband had like t'\ 
a been smothered with mud. She perceived also that notwit. 
standing the command of the King to make this place for Pilgrims 
good, yet it was rather worse than formerly ; so I asked if that was 
„, . , true ? Yes, said the old Gentleman, too true : for 

Their own carnal , i i -,■,■, t,-' •, 

conclusions, in- that many there be that pretend to be the King's 
stead of the word Labourers, and that say they are for mending the 
of hfe. King's high-ways, that bring dirt and dung instead 

of stones, and so marr instead of mending. Here Christiana there- 
Mercy boldest at ^°^® "^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ "^^^^ ^ Stand 3 but, said 
the slough of Des- Mercy, Come, let us venture ; only let us be wary. 
i^°'^'^' Then they looked well to their steps, and made a 

shift to gfjC staggeringly over. 

Yet Christiana had like to a been m, and that not once nor twice. 
Now, they had no sooner got over, but they thought they heard 
vv^ords that said unto them, " Blessed is she that believeth, for there 
shall be a performance of what has been told her from the 
Lord.^'* 

Then they went on again, and said Mercy to Christiana, Had I 
as good ground to hope for a lovieg reception at the Wicket-Gate 
as you, I think no slough of Despond would discourage me. 

Well, said the other, you know your sore, and I know mine ; 
and, good friend, we shall all have enough evil before we come to 
our journey's end. For can it be imagined that the people who 
design to attain such excellent glories as we do, and that are so 
envied that happiness as we are, but that we shall meet with what 
fears and shares, with what troubles and afflictions, they can pos- 
sibly assault us with, that hate us. 

And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my dream by my- 
^ ,, , self. Wherefore, meth ought, I saw Christiana, and' 

Prayer should be ,_ i i 1 Ti f i ^ ^ 

made with consid- Mercy, and the boys, go all oi them up to the Gate ; 
eraiion and fear, as to which when they Were come, they betook them- 
weii as in faith and ggiyes to a short debate about how they must man- 
age their calling at the Gate, and what should be 
said unto him that did open to them. So it was concluded, since 
Christiana was the eldest, that she should knock for entrance, and 

* I.uke i. 45. 



pilgrim's PnOGRESS. 241 

that she should speak to hhn that did open, for the rest. So Chris- 
tiana began to knock ; and, as her poor husband did, she knocked 
and knocked again. But, instead of any that answered, they all 
thought that they heard as if a dog came barking upon them. ; a 
dog, and a great one too ; and this made the wo- 
men and children afraid ; nor durst they for a while "^^^ "^"^'l^^ '^^'''' 

' •' an enemy to prayer 

to knock any more, for fear the mastiif should fly 

upon them. Now.^ therefore, they were greatly tumbled up and 

down m their minds, and knew not what to do: Christiana and her 

knock they durst not for fear of the dog ; go back companions per- 

they durst not, for fear the Keeper of the Gate P^exed concerning 

should espy them as they went, and should be ^ ^^^^' 

offended with them. At last they thought of knocking again, and 

knocked more vehemently than they did at first. Then said the 

Keeper of the Gate, Who is there ? So the dog left off to bark, 

and he opened unto them. 

Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said. Let not our 
Lord be offended with his handmaidens, for that we have knocked 
at his princely Gate. Then said the Keeper, Whence come ye? 
and what is it that you would have ? 

Christiana answered, We are come from whence Christian did 
come, and upon the same errand as he, to wit, to be, if it shall 
please you, graciously admitted, by this Gate, into the Way that 
leads to the Celestial City. And I answer, my Lord, in the next 
place, that I am Christiana, once the wife of Christian, that now 
is gotten above. 

With that the Keeper of the Gate did marvel, saymg. What ! is 
she now become a Pilgrim, that, but a while ago, abhorred that 
life ? Then she bowed her head, and said. Yes ; and so are these 
my sweet babes also. Then he took her by the ^^^ Christiana is 
hand, and led her in, and said also, " Suffer little entertained at the 
children to come unto me ;" and with that he shut ^^^®- 
up the Gate. This done, he called to a trumpeter, that was above, 
over the Gate, to entertain Christiana with shouting and sound of 
trumpet for joy. So he obeyed, and sounded and filled the air with 
his melodious notes. 

Now, all this while, poor Mercy did stand without trembling and 
crying, for fear that she was rejected. But when Christiana had 
got admittance for herself and her boys, then she began to make 
intercession for Mercy. 

And she said. My Lord, I have a companion of Christiana's prayer 
mine that stands yet without, that is come hither is for her friend 
apon the same account as myself ; one that is much Mercy. 
21 




[Mercy faints— the Keeper raises her.] 



dejected in her mind, for that she comes, as she thmks, withom 
sending for ; v/hereas I was sent for by my husband's King to 
come. 

Delays make the ^^^^ Mercy began to be very impatient, and each 
hungering soul the minute was as long to her as an horn* ; wherefore 
niore fervent. gj^g. prevented Christiana from a fuller interceding 

for her, by knocking at the Gate herself. And she knocked then 
so loud, that she made Christiana to start. Then said the Keeper 
of the Gate, Who is there ? and Christiana said, It is my friend. 

So he opened the Gate, and looked out; but 
Mercy was fallen down without in a swoon ; for 
she fainted, and was afraid that no Gate should be opened to her. 
Then he took her by the hand, and said, Damsel, I bid thea 



ftiercy faints. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 243 

sir, said she, I am faint ; there is scarce life left m me. But 
he answered, that one once said, " Wheii my soul fainted within 
me, I remembered the Lord ; and my prayer came unto thee, 
into thy holy temple.'^''* Fear not, but stand upon thy feet, and tell 
me wherefore thou art come. 

Mercy. I am come for that unto which I was never invited, as 
my friend Christiana was. Hers was from the King, and mine 
was but from her. Wherefore I fear I presume. 

Keeper. Did she desire thee to come with her to this place 1 

Mercy. Yes ; and, as my Lord sees, I am come. And if there 
IS any grace and forgiveness of sms to spare, I beseech that thy 
poor handmaid may be a partaker thereof. 

Then he took her again by the hand, and led her 
gently in, and said, I pray for all them that believe 
in me, by what means soever they come unto me. Then said he to 
those that stood by. Fetch something, and give it to Mercy to smell 
on, thereby to stay her faintings j so they fetched her a bundle of 
myrrh. And a while after she was revived. 

And now were Christiana, and her boys, and Mercy, received 
of the Lord at the head of the Way, and spoke kindly unto by him. 
Then said they yet further unto him. We are sorry for our sins, 
and beg of our Lord his pardon, and further information what we 
must do. 

1 grant pardon, said he, by Word and Deed : by Word, in the 
promise of forgiveness; by Deed, in the way I obtained it. Take 
the first from my lips with a kiss, and the other as it shall be 
revealed."! 

Now I saw in my dream that he spake many good words unto 
them, whereby they were greatly gladded. He , _ 

also had them up to the top of the Gate, and showed geeTafar off. 
them by what Deed they were saved; and told 
them Y/ithal, that that sight they would have again as they went 
along the way, to their comfort. 

So he left them a while in a summer parlour below, where they 
entered into talk by themselves. And thus Chris- 
tiana began : O Lord ! how glad am I that we are ciu-istianl^^'^ 
got in hither ! 

Mercy. So you well may ; but I, of all, have cause to leap for joy. 

Chr. I thought one time, as I stood at the Gate, (because I had 
knocked, and none did answer,) that all our labour had been 
lost ; especially when that ugly Cur made such a heavy barking 
against us. 

* Jonah ii. 7. I Song i. 2. John xx. 20. 



244 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Mercy. But my worst fear was, after I saw that you was taken 
into his favour, and that I was left behind : now, thought I, it is 
fulfilled which is written, " Two women shall be grinding together ; 
the one shall be taken, and the other left " * I had much ado to 
forbear crying out, " Undone !" And afraid I was to knock any 
more ; but when I looked up to v/hat was written over the Gate, I 
took courage. I also thought that I must either knock again, or 
die : so I knocked, but I cannot tell how ; for my spirit now strug- 
gled between life and death. 

Christiana thinks ^^^- ^^^ 7°^ ^^^t tell how you knocked? 7 
her companion am sure your knocks were so earnest, that the ver^f 
prays~^better than gound of them made me start. I thought I never 
heard such knocking in all my life ; I thought you 
would a come in by a violent hand, or a took the Kingdom by 
storm, t 

Mercy. Alas I to be in my case, who that so was could but 
have done so 1 You saw that the door was shut upon me, and 
that there was a most cruel Dog thereabout. Who, I say, that was 
so faint-hearted as I, would not have knocked with all their might ? 
But pray, what said my Lord to my rudeness ? Was he not angry 
with me? 

Christ pleased with Chr. When he heard your lumbering noise, he 
loud and restless gave a wonderful innocent smile: I believe what 
^^*^^^' you did pleased him well; for he showed no 

If the soul at first sign to the contrary. But I marvel in my heart 
did know all it why he keeps such aDog : had I known that afore, 

should meet with in -r ^ ^ -, ^ ^ t i 1 1 

its journey to heav- ^ should not have had heart enough to have ven- 
en, it would hardly tured myself in this manner. But now we are in, 
ever set out. ^g ^^^ ^^ . ^^^ j ^.^ „^^^ Y7i\h all my heart. 

Mercy. I will ask, if you please, next time he comes down, why 
he keeps such a filthy Cur in his yard ; I hope he will not take it 
amiss. 

The Children are Do SO, said the children, and persuade him to 
- afraid of the Dog. hang him ; for we are afraid he will bite us when 
we go hence. 

So at last he came down to them again, and Mercy fell to the 
ground on her face before him, and worshipped, and said. Let my 
Lord accept the sacrifice of praise which I now offer unto him with 
the calves of my lips. 

So he said unto her, " Peace be to thee ; stand wp." But she 
continued upon her face, and said, '"^Righteous art thou, O Lord, 
when I plead with thee ; yet let me talk with thee of thy judg' 

Matth. xxiv. 41. * Ibid. xi. 12. 



pilgrim's progress. 245 

merits^* Wherefore dost ihou keep so cruel a Mercy exposm- 
dog in thy yard, at the sight of which, such wo- lates about the 
me a and children as we are ready to fly from thy ^^s- 
gate for fear ? 

He answered and said, that dog has another Devil, 
owner; he also is kept close in another Man's 
ground ; only my Pilgrims hear his barking. He belongs to the 
Castle which you see there at a distance, but can come up to the 
walls of this place. He has frighted many an honest Pilgrim 
from worse to better by the great voice of his roaring. Indeed, he 
that owneth him doth not keep him out of any good-will to me or 
mine ; but with intent to keep the Pilgrims from coming to me, 
and that they may be afraid to come and knock at this Gate for 
entrance. Sometimes also he has broken out, and has worried 
some that I loved ; but I take all at present patiently. I also give 
my Pilgrims timely help, so that they are not delivered to his power, 
to do with them what his doggish nature would prompt him to. 
But what, my purchased one ! I trow, hadst thou known never so 
much beforehand, thou wouldst not have been afraid of a dog ? 
The beggars that go from door to door will, rather ^ ^heck to the car. 
than lose a supposed alms, run the hazard of the nal fear of the Pil- 
bawling, barking, and biting too, of a dog ; and grims. 
shall a dog, a dog in another man's yard, a dog whose barking I 
turn to the profit of Pilgrims, keep any from coming to me ? 1 
deliver them from the Lions ^ and my darling from the power of 
the dog. 

Then said Mercy, I confess my ignorance ; I Christians when 
spake what I understood not; I acknowledge that ^JeerhfSom 

thou dost all things well. of their Lord. 

Then Christiana began to talk of their journey, and to inquire 
after the Way. So he fed them, and washed their feet, and set 
them in the Way of his Steps, according as he had dealt with her 
husband before. So I saw in my dream, that they walked on theij 
Way, and had the weather very comfortable to them. 

Then Christiana began to sing, saying : — 

Bless'd be the day that I began 

A Pilgrim for to be , 
And blessed also be that man 

That thereto moved me . 
'Tistrue, 'twas long ere I began 

To seek to live for ever ; 
But now I run fast as I can, 

'Tis better late than never. 

* .^er. xii. 1. 2. 
21* 



246 PILGRLM'S PROGRESS. 

Our tears to joy, our fears to faith, 

Are turned, as we see ; 
Thus our beginning (as one saith) 

Shows what our end shall be. 

The Devil's gar- Now, there was on the other side of the Wali 
den. that fenced in the way up which Christiana and 

her companions were to go, a Garden; and the Garden belonged 
to him whose was that harking dog, of whom mention was made 
before. And some of the fruit-trees that grew in that Garden shot 
their branches over the wall ; and being mellow, they that found 
The children eat them did gather them up, and eat of them to their 
of the enemy's hurt. So Christiana's boys, as boys are apt to do, 
^'■"'^- being pleased with the Trees, and with the Fruit 

that did hang thereon, did pluck them, and began to eat. Their 
Mother did also chide them for so doing, but still the boys went on. 
Well, said she, my sons, you transgress ; for that fruit is none 
of ours. But she did not know that it belonged to the Enemy ; 
I'll warrant you, if she had she would have been ready to die for 
fear. But that passed, and they went on their way. Now, by that 
they were gone about two bow-shots from the place that led them 
into the Way, they espied two very ill-favoured ones coming down 
apace to meet them. With that Christiana, and Mercy her friend, 
covered themselves with their veils, and so kept on their journey ; 
Two ill-favoured the children also went on before ; so at last they 
ones assault Chris- met together. Then they that came down to meet 
tian^ and Mercy, ^j^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^p ^^ ^-^^ women as if they would 

embrace them : but Christiana said. Stand back, or go peaceably 
AS y )u should ! Yet these two, as men that are deaf, regarded not 
Chiistiana's words, but began to lay hands upon them. At that 
Christiana waxing very wroth, spurned at them with her feet; 
Mercy also, as well as she could, did what she could to shift them. 
Christiana again said to them, Stand back, and begone ! for we 
have no money to lose, being Pilgrims, as you see, and such too 
as live upon the charity of our friends. 

Then said one of the two men. We make no assault upon you 
for money ; but are come out to tell you, that if you will but grant 
one small request which we shall ask, we will make Women of 
you for ever. 

Now Christiana, imagining what they should mean, made an- 
swer again, We will neither hear nor regard, nor yield to what 
you shall ask; we are in haste, and cannot stay: our business is a 
business of life and death ; so again she and her companion made 
a fresh essay to go past them ; but they letted them in their way. 



pilgrim's progress. <^47 

And they said, We intend no hurt to your lives; 'tis another 
thing we would hare. 

Ay, quoth Christiana, you would have us body 

1 1 r T 1 V • p 4.\^ ^ ^^^6 cries out. 

ani soul, for I know it is lor that you are come ; 

but we will die rather upon the spot, than to suffer ourselves to be 

brought into such snares as shall hazard our well-being hereafter. 

And Avith that they both shrieked out, and cried, "Murder! 
Murder !" * and so put themselves under those laws that are pro- 
vided for the protection of women. But the men still made their 
approach upon them, with design to prevail against them ; they 
therefore cried out again. 

Now they being, as I said, not far from the Gate >Tisgoodtocryout 
m at which they came, their voice was heard, from when we are as- 
whence they were, thither ; wherefore some of the sauited. 
House came out, and knowing that it was Christiana's tongue, they 
made haste to her relief. But by that they were The Reliever 
got within sight of them, the women were in a very comes. 
great scuffle ; the children also stood crying by. Then did he that 
came in for their relief call out to the ruffians, saying. What is that 
thing you do ? Would you make my Lord's people to transgress ? 
He also attempted to take them, but they did make The iU ones fly to 
their escape over the wall into the Garden of the the devil for reUe£ 
man to whom the great dog belonged ; so the dog became their 
protector. This Reliever then came up to the Woman, and asked 
them how they did? So they answered, we thank thy Prince, 
pretty well ; only we have been somewhat affrighted ; we thank 
thee also for that thou earnest in to our help, otherwise we had 
been overcome. 

So, after a few more words, this Reliever said 

i" n it, T n J I- 1, The Reliever talks 

as followeth ; I marvelled much, when you was j^ ^-^^ women, 
entertained at the Gate above, being ye knew that 
ye are but weak women, that you petitioned not the Lord for a 
Conductor. Then might you have avoided these troubles and 
iangers : for he would have granted you one. 
Alas ! said Christiana, we were so taken with our ., , , . 

, T . ^ ■, r. Mark this 

present blessing, that dangers to come were forgot- 
ten by us. Beside, who could have thought that, so near the King's 
Palace, there could have lurked such naughty ones ? Indeed, it 
nad been well for us had we asked our Lord for one ; but since our 
Lord knew it would be for our profit, I wonder he sent not one 
along with us. 

Rel. It is not always necessary to grant things not asked for 

* Dent. xxii. 23, 26, 27. 



248 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

lest, by so doing, they become of little esteem ,• ut 
^asWngfor^^' when the Want of a thing is felt, it then comes 

under, in the eyes of him that feels it, that estimate 
that properly is its due, and so consequently will be thereafter used. 
Had my Lord granted you a Conductor, you would not either so 
have bewailed that oversight of yours in not asking for one, as now 
you have occasion to do. So all things work for good, and tend 
to make you more wary. 

Chr. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and confess our folly, 
and ask one ? 

Rel. Your confession of your folly I will present him with. To 
go back again, you need not ; for, in all places where you shall 
come, you shall find no want at all ; for in every one of my Lord's 
lodgings, which he has prepared for the reception of his Pilgrims, 
there is sufficient to furnish them against all attempts whatsoever. 
But, as I said, " He will be inquired of by them to do it for them."* 
And 't is a poor thing that is not worth asking for. When he had thus 
said, he went back to his place, and the Pilgrims went on their way. 
Then said Mercy, What a sudden blank is here ! 
Mercy!*^ ^ ^ ° I made account that we had been past all danger 

and that we should never see sorrow more. 
^ . . , ., Thy innocency, my sister, said Christiana to 

Christiana's guilt. ,^ ^t. i i. ^ ^ 

Mercy, may excuse thee much ; but as for me, my 
fault is so much the greater, for that I saw this danger before I 
came out of the doors, and yet did not provide for it when provision 
might have been had. I am much to be blamed. 

Then said Mercy, How knew you this before you came from 
home ? Pray, open to me this riddle. 

Clir. Why, I will tell you : Before I set foot out 
STeafeT''*^''^™ of doors, one night, as I lay in my bed, I had a 
dream about this ; for methought I saw two men, 
as like these as ever any in the world could look, stand at my bed's 
feet, plotting how they might prevent my salvation. I will tell 
you their very words : They said ('t was when I was in my trou- 
bles,) What shall we do with this Woman ? for she cries out, 
waking and sleeping, for forgiveness. If she be suffered to go on 
as she begins, we shall lose her as we have lost her Husband. 
This, you know, might have made me take heed, and have provided 
when provision might have been had. 

Mercy makes good Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect, we have 
use of their neg- an occasion ministered unto us to behold our own 
lect of duty. imperfections, so our Lord has taken occasion there- 

* Ezek. xxxvi. 37. 



pilgrim's progress. 249 

by to make manifest the riches of his grace : for he, as we see, has 
followed us with unasked kindness, and has delivered us from their 
hands that were stronger than we, of his mere good pleasure. 

Thus now, when they had talked away a little more time, they 
drew near to a House which stood in the Way, which House was 
built for the relief of Pilgrims, as you will find more fully related 
m the First Part of these Records of the Pilgrim'' s Progress. So 

they drew on towards the House, (the House of the „ 
T ^ XII I 11 , Talk in the Inter- 

Interpreter ;) and when they came tc the door, they preter's House a- 
heard a great talk in the House ; then they gave bout Christiana's 
ear, and heard, as they thought, Christiana men- ^'j^^ on piigrim- 
tioned hy name ; for you must know that there 
went along, even before her, a talk of her and her children's going 
on pilgrimage. And this was the more pleasing to them, because 
they had heard that she was Christian's wife, that woman who was, 
some time ago, so unwilling to hear of going on pilgrimage. Thus, 
therefore, they stood still, and heard the good people within com- 
mending her, who, they little thought, stood at the ci, ^ t h* 
door. At last Christiana knocked, as she had done at door, 
at the Gate before. Nowwhen she had knocked, there ry., . , 

' 1 he door IS opened 

came to the door a young damsel, and opened the to tiiem by inno- 
door, and looked, and behold, two women were there, '^^'^t. 

Then said the damsel to them, With whom would you speak in 
this place ? 

Christiana answered, We understand that this is a privileged 
place for those that are become Pilgrims, and we now at this dooi 
are such; wherefore we pray that we may be partakers of that for 
which we at this time are come ; for the day, as thou seest, is very 
far spent, and we are loath to-night to go any further. 

Damsel. Pray, what may I call your name, that I may tell it to 
my Lord within ? 

Chr. My name is Christiana ; I was the wife of that Pilgrim 
that some years ago did travel this way ; and these be his four 
children. This Maiden also is my companion, and is going on 
pilgrimage too. 

Then Innocent ran in, (for that was her name,) and said to those 
within, Can you think who is at the door ? There is Christiana 
and her children, and her companion, all waiting for entertainment 
here. ^ Then they leaped for joy, and went and , .' 
told their Master. So he came to the door, and, theVn^terpreterThat 
ooking upon her, he said, Art thou that Christiana Christiana is turn- 
whom Christian the good Man left behind him ^^ Pilgrim. 
when he betook himself to a Pilgrim's life ? 



250 PILGRIMS PROGRESS. 

Chr. I am that Woman that was so hard-hearted as to slight my 
Husband's troubles, and that left him to go on his journey alone ; 
and these are his four children: but now I also am come ; for I am 
convmced that no way is right but this. 

Int. Then is fulfilled that which is written of the man that said 
to his son, " Go, work to-day in my vineyard ;" and he said to his 
father, " I will not ; but afterward repented and went."* 

Then said Christiana, So be it. Amen. God make it a true say- 
ing upon me, and grant that I may be found at the last of him in 
peace, without spot, and blameless. 

Int. But why standest thou thus at the door ? Come in, thou 
daughter of Abraham : we are talking of thee but now ; for tidings 
have come to us before, how thou art become a Pilgrim. Come, 
Children, come in ; come Maiden, come in ! So he had them all 
into the house. 

So, when they were within, they were bidden to sit down and 
rest them ; the which when they had done, those that attended upon 
Old saints glad to ^^® Pilgrims in the House came into the room to 
see the young ones see them. And one smiled, and another smiled, 
walk in God's ways, ^nd they all smiled, for joy that Christiana was 
become a Pilgrim ; they also looked upon the boys ; they stroked 
them over their faces with the hand, in token of their kind recep- 
tion of them; they also carried it lovingly to Mercy, and bid them 
all welcome into their Master's House. 

After a while, because supper was not ready, the 
The Significant Interpreter took them into his Significant room,s, 
and showed them what Christian, Christiana's hus- 
band, had seen some time before. Here therefore, they saw the 
Man in the Cage, the Man and his Dream, the Man that cut his 
way through his Enemies, and the Picture of the biggest of them 
all, together with the rest of those things that were then so profit- 
able to Christian. 

This done, and after those things had been somewhat digested 
by Christiana and her company, the Interpreter takes them apart 

Th with ^g^i^j ^^d has them first into a room where was a 

the Muck-rake ex- man that could look no way but downward, with 
pounded. ^ Muck-Rake in his hand : there stood also one 

over his head, with a Celestial Crown in his hand, and proffered 
him that Crown for his Muck-Rake ; but the man did neither look 
up nor regard, but raked to himself the straws, the small sticks, 
and dust of the floor. 

Then said Christiana, I persuade myself that I know somewhat 



^=^ 




[The Man with the Muck-Rake.] 

the meaning of this ; for this is a figure of a man of this world : la 
it not, good sir ? 

Thou hast said the right, said he, and his Muck-Rake doth show 
his carnal mind. And whereas thou seest him rather give heed to 
rake up straws, and sticlis, and the dust of the floor, than to do what 
he says that calls to him from above, with the Celestial Crown in 
his hand, it is to show that heaven is but as a fable to some, and 
that things here are counted the only things substantial. Now, 
whereas it was also showed thee that the man could look no way 
but downward, it is to let thee know that earthly things, Avhen 
they are with power upon men's minds, quite carry their hearts 

away from God. ^^ . . 

mi • 1 ^1 • • /-Mill p 1 • Christiana's prayer 

Then said Christiana, Oh! deliver me from this against the Muck, 

Muck-Rake. Rake. 
251 



252 PILGRfAfrf PROGRESS. 

That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by till it is almost 
rusty; '■'■Give me not riche.9,^^* is scarce the prayer of one 
of ten thousand. Straws, and sticks, and dust, with most are 
the great things now looked after. 

With that Christiana and Mercy wept and said, It is, alas ! too true. 

When the Interpreter had showed them this, he had them into 
the very best room in the house ; (a very brave room it was :) so 
lie bid them look round about, and see if they could find any thing 

^, , ^ ., profitable there. Then they looked round and 

Of the Spider. ^ , ^ , , • i i 

round -, for there was nothing to be seen but a very 
great Spider on the wall ; and that they overlooked. 

Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing. But Christiana held her 
peace. 

But, said the Interpreter, look again ; she therefore looked again, 

and said, Here is not any thing but an ugly Spider, who hangs by 

his hands upon the wall. Then said he. Is there 

Spider* ^^ ^ ^^^ ^^^ Spider in all this spacious room ? Then 

the water stood in Christiana's eyes, for she was a 

woman quick of apprehension ; and she said. Yea, Lord, there 

are more here than one ; yea, and spiders whose venom is far more 

destructive than that which is in her. The Interpreter then looked 

pleasantly on her, and said, Thou hast said the truth. This made 

Mercy to blush, and the boys to cover their faces ', for they all 

oegan now to understand the riddle. 

Then said the Interpreter again, " TTie spider taketh hold with 
her hands," as you see, " and is in Kings'' palaces." And where- 
fore is this recorded, but to show you, that how full of the venom 
of sin soever you be, yet you may, by the hand of Faith, lay hold 
of and dwell in the best room that belo»gs to the King's House 
above ? 

I thought, said Christiana, of something of this ; but I could not 
imagine it at all. I thought that we were like Spiders, and that we 
looked like ugly creatures, in what fine rooms soever we were ; but 
that by this Spider, that venomous and ill-favoured creature, we 
were to learn how to act faith, that came not into my thoughts. 
And yet she had taken hold with her hands, and, as I see, dwelleth 
in the best room in the House. God has made nothing in vain. 

Then they seemed all to be glad; but the water stood in their 
eyes ; yet they lookea one upon another, and also bowed before tlie 
Interpreter. 

Of the Hen and He had them then into another room, where was 
Chickens. a Hen and Chickens, and bid them observe a while. 

* Prov. XXX. 8. 




[The Pilgrims at the nouse of the Interpreter— Paraole ol the Hen and Chickens. J 

So one of the chickens went to the trough to drink, and, every 
lime she drank, she lifted up her head and her eyes towards 
heaven. See, said he, what this little chick doth, and learn 
of her to acknowledge whence your mercies come, hy receiv- 
ing them with looking up. Yet again, said he, observe and look. 
So they gave heed, and perceived that the hen did walk in a four- 
fold method towards her chickens : 1. She had a " common call,^^ 
and that she hath all day long. 2. She had a " special call,'''' and 
that she had but sometimes. 3. She had a "brooding not e.^'' And, 
4. She had an " outcry?'' 

Now, said he, compare this hen to your King, and these chick- 
ens to his obedient ones. For, answerable to ner, himself has his 
methods which he walketh in towards his people. By his common 
call, he gives nothing ; by his special call, he always has some- 
thing to give ; he has also a brooding voice for them that are under 
his wing ; and he has an outcry, to give the alarm when he seeth 
the enemy come. I chose, my darlings, to lead you into the room 
where such things are, because you are women, and they are easy 
for you. 

And, sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some 
more; so he had them into the slaughter-house, tj^e shee^.'^ 
wliere was a butcher killing a sheep ; and behold 
253 32 



254 pilgrim's progress. 

the sheep was quiet, and took her death patiently. Tnen said the 
Interpreter, you must learn of this sheep to suffer, and to put up 
with wrongs without murmurings and complaints. Behold how 
quietly she takes her death, and, without objecting, she suffereth 
her skin to be pulled over her eyes. Your King doth call you his 
sheep. 

After this, he led them into his garden, where 

was great variety of flowers, and he said. Do you 
feee all these ? So Christiana said, Yes. Then said he again. 
Behold the flowers are diverse in stature^ in quality^ and colour, 
and smelly and virtue ; and some are better than others ; also, 
where the gardener had set them, there they stand, and quarrel not 
with one another. 

Again, he had them into his field, which he had 

sown with wheat and corn ; but when they beheld, 
the tops of all were cut ofl', only the straw remained. He said again, 
This ground was dunged, and ploughed, and sowed, but what shall 
we do with the crop ? Then said Christiana, burn some, and make 
muck of the rest. Then said the Interpreter again. Fruit, you see, is 
that thing you look for, and for want of that you condemn it to the 
fire, and to be trodden under foot of menj beware that in this you 
condemn not yourselves ! 

Then, as they were coming in from abroad, they 
Selpide?'" ^''^ espied a little robin with a great spider in his 

mouth : so the Interpreter said, Look here ; so they 
looked, and Mercy wondered ; but Christiana said, What a dis- 
paragement it is to such a pretty little bird as robin red-breast is, 
he being also a bird above many, that loveth to maintain a kind 
of sociableness with men ! I had thought they had lived upon 
crumbs of bread, or upon other such harmless matter ; I like him 
worse than I did. 

The Interpreter then replied, This robin is an emblem very apt 
to set forth some professors by ; for, to sight, they are as this robin, 
pretty of note, colour, and carriage : they seem also to have a very 
great love for professors that are sincere ; and, above all others, to 
desire to sociate with them, and to be in their company, as if they 
could live upon the good man's crumbs. They pretend also that 
therefore it is that they frequent the house of the godly, and the 
appointments of the Lord ; but when they are by themselves, as 
tLe robin, they can catch and gobble up spiders ; they can change 
their diet, drink iniquity and swallow down sin like water. 

So, when they were come again into the house, because supper 
as yet was not ready, Christiana again desired that the Interpreter 



pilgrim's progress. 255 

would either show or tell of some other things that Pray, and you will 
are profitable. get at that which 

Then the Interpreter began, and said, The fatter yetiiesunreveaied. 
the sow is, the more she desires the mire ; the fatter the ox is, the 
more gamesomely he goes to the slaughter ; and the more healthy 
the lustful man is, the more prone he is unto evil. 

There is a desire in women to go neat and fine ; and it is a comely 
thing to be adorned Avilh that which in God's sight is of great 
price. 

'Tis easier watching a night or two than to sit up a whole year 
together ; so 'tis easier for one to begin to profess well, than to hold 
out as he should to the end. 

Every shipmaster, when m a storm, will willingly cast that over- 
board which is of the smallest value in the vessel ; but who will 
throw the best out first ? None but he that feareth not God. 

One leak will sink a ship, and one sin will destroy a sinner. 

He that forgets his friend is ungrateful unto him ; but he that 
forgets his Saviour is unmerciful to himself. 

He that lives in sin, and looks for happiness hereafter, is like 
hbn that soweth cockle, and thinks to fill his barn with wheat or 
barley. 

If a man would live well, let him fetch his last day to him, and 
make it always his company-keeper. 

Whispering and change of thoughts prove that sm is in *he 
world. 

If the world, which God sets light by, is counted a thing of tl- 
Worth with men, what is heaven, that God commendeth? 

If the life that is attended with so many troubles is so loath i 
be let go by us, what is the life above ? 

Every body will cry up the goodness of men ; but who is there, 
chat is, as he should be, affected with the goodness of God? 

We seldom sit down to meat, but we eat and leave : so there is 
in Jesus Christ more merit and righteousness than the whole world 
has need of. 

When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out into his garden 
again, and had them to a tree whose inside was all 
rotten and gone, and yet it grew, and had leaves. ^Jttln^atTeart** '^ 
Then said Mercy, What means this ? This tree, 
said he, whose outside is fair, and whose inside is rotten, is it, to 
which many may be compared that are in the garden of God ; who 
with their mouths speak high in behalf of God, but indeed will do 
nothing for him ; whose leaves are fair, but their heart good for 
nothing but to be tinder for the devil's tinder-box. 



956 pilgrim's progress. 

They are at sup- Now supper was ready, the table spread, and all 

per- things set on the board ; so they sat down and did 

eat, Avhen one had given thanks. And the Interpreter did usually 
entertain those that lodged with him with music at meals; so the 
minstrels played. 

There was also one that did sing, and a very fine voice he had 
His song was this :— 

The Lord is only my support, 

And he that doth me feed : 
How can I then want any thing 

Whereof I stand in need? 



Talk at supper. 



When the song and music was ended, the Inter- 
preter asked Christiana, What it was that first did 
move her to betake herself to a Pilgrim's life ? Christiana an- 
A repetition of swered, First, The loss of my Husband came into 
Christiana's expe- my mind, at which I was heartily grieved ; but all 
^^^^^^- that was but natural affection. Then, after that 

:ame the troubles and pilgrimage of my husband into my mind, 
and also how like a churl I had carried it to him as to that. So 
guilt took hold of my mind, and would have drawn me into the 
pond ; but that opportunely I had a dream of the well-being of my 
' husband, and a letter sent me by the King of that Country, where 
my husband dwells, to come to him. The dream and the letter 
together so wrought upon my mind, that they forced me to this way. 

Lit. But met you with no opposition before you set out of doors ? 

Chr. Yes ; a neighbour of mine, one Mrs. Timorous, (she was 
a-kin to him that would have persuaded my husband to go back for 
fear of the Lions,) she all-to-befooled me for, as she called it, my 
intended desperate adventure ; she also urged what she could to 
dishearten me to it, the hardships and troubles that my husband 
met with in the way ; but all this I got over pretty well. But a 
dream that I had of two ill-looking Ones, that I thought did plot 
how to make me miscarry in my journey, that hath troubled me 
much ; yea it still runs in my mind, and makes me afraid of every 
one that I meet, lest they should meet me to do me a mischief, and 
to turn me out of my Way. Yea, I may tell my Lord, though I 
would not have every body know it, that, between this and the 
Gate by which we got into the Way, we were both so sorely as- 
saulted, that we werr made to cry out Murder ! and the two that 
made this assault upon us were like the two that I saw m my dream. 

Then said the Interpreter, Thy beginning is good, thy latter end 
A question put to shall greatly increase. So he addressed himself to 
Mercjr. Mercy, and said unto her, And what moved thee 

to coiDe hither, sweetheart? 



pilgrim's progress. 257 

Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while continued 
silent. 

Then said he, Be not afraid ; only believe, and speak thy mind. 
So she began, and said, Truly, Sir, my want of .. , 

* ' . ' ■' ' ' -^ . Mercy's answer. 

experience is that which makes me covet to be m 
silence, and that also which fills me with fears of coming short at 
last. I cannot tell of visions and dreams, as my friend Christiana 
can; nor know I what it is to mourn for my refusing the counsel 
of those that were good relations. 

Int. What was it then, dear heart, that hath prevailed with thee 
to do as thou hast done ? 

Mercy. Why, when our friend here was packing up to be gone 
from our town, I and another went accidentally to see her. So we 
knocked at the door, and went in. When we were within, and 
seeing what she was doing, we asked her, what was her meaning ? 
She said, she was sent for to go to her Husband ; and then she up 
and told us how she had seen him in a dream, dwelling in a curious 
place among Immortals^ wearing a Crown, playing upon a Harp, 
eating and drinking at his prince's table, and singing praises to 
him for bringing him thither, &c. Now, methought, while she was 
telling these things unto us, my heart burned within me ; and I 
said in my heart. If this be true, I will leave my father and my 
mother, and the land of my nativity, and will, if I may, go along 
with Christiana. 

So I asked her farther of the truth of these things, and if she 
would let me go with her ? for I saw now, that there was no dwel- 
ling, but with the danger of ruin, any longer in our town. But yet 
I came away with a heavy heart ; not for that I was unwilling to 
come away, but for that so many of my relations were left be- 
hind. 

And I am come with all the desire of my heart ; and will go, if 
T may, with Christiana unto her husband and his King. 

Int. Thy setting out is good, for thou has given credit to the 
truth; thou art a Ruth, who did, for the love she bare to Naomi, 
and to the Lord her God, leave father and mother, and the land of 
her nativity, to come out and go with a people that she knew not 
heretofore.* " The Lord recompense thy work, and full reward be 
given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art 
come to trust." 

Now supper was ended, and preparation was xhey undress 
made for bed, the women were laid singly alone, themselves for 
and the boys by themselves. Now, when Mercy ^^^ 

• Ruth ii. 11, 12. 

22* 



258 PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

was in bed, she could not sleep for joy, for tliat now her doubts of 
Mercy's good missing at last, were removed further from her 
night's rest. than ever they were before. So she lay blessing 

and praising God, who had had such favour for her. 

In the morning, they arose with the sun, and prepared themselves 
for their departure ; but the Interpreter v\rould have them tarry a 
while ; for, said he, you must orderly go from hence. Then said 
The bath sanctifi- he to the damsel that first opened to them, Take 
cation. them, and have them into the garden to the hath^ 

and there wash them, and make them clean from the soil which 
they have gathered by travelling. Then Innocent, the damsel, 
took them and had them into the garden, and brought them to the 
bath; so she told them, that there they must wash and be clean, 
for so her Master would have the women to do that called at his 
™, V, . .. house, as they were going on pilgrimage. Then 

They wash in It. ' . •' , , , ^ ■, , 

they went m and washed, yea, they and the boys 
and all ; and they came out of the bath not only sweet and clean, 
but also much enlivened and strengthened in their joints. So, 
when they came in, they looked fairer a deal than when they went 
out to the washing. 

When they were returned out of the garden from the bath, the 

Interpreter took them, and looked upon them, and said unto them, 

" Fair as the moon?^ Then he called for the seaZ, wherewith 

_, , , thev used to be sealed that are washed in his bath. 

They are sealed. ^ , , , -, •, , i . -, 

So the seal was brought, and he set his mark upon 
.hem, that they might be known in the places whither they were 
yet to go. Now, the seal was the contents and sum of the Pas- 
sover which the children of Israel did eat * when they came out of 
the land of Egypt ; and the mark was set between their eyes. 
This seal added greatly to their beauty, for it was an ornament to 
their faces. It also added to their gravity, and made their counte- 
nance more like that of Angels. 

Then said the Interpreter again to the damsel that waited upon 
these Women, Go into the vestry, and fetch out garments for these 
people ; so she went and fetched out white Raiment, and laid it 
Thev are clothed down before him; so he commanded them to put 

It on. It was fine linen, white and clean. When 
*he women were thus adorned, they seemed to be a terror one to 

the other ; for that they could not see that glory 

each one had in herself, which they could see in 
«ach other. Now, therefore, they began to esteem each other better 
than themselves. For you are fairer than I am, said one; and you 

* Exod. xiii, 8-10 



PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 259 

are more comely than I am, said another. The children also stood 
amazed, to see into what fashion they were brought. 

The Interpreter then called for a Man-Servant of his, one Great- 
heart, and bid him take sword, and helmet, and shield ; and take 
these, my daughters, said he, and conduct them to the house called 
Beautiful, at which place they will rest next. So he took his 
weapons, and went before them: and the Interpreter said, God 
speed. Those also that belonged to the family sent them away 
with many a good Avish. So they went on their way, and sang : 

This place hath been our second stage ; 

Here we have heard and seen 
Those good things that from age to age 

To others hid have been. 
The dunghill-raker, spider, hen. 

The chicken, too, to me 
Have taught a lesson ; let me then 

Conformed to it be. 
The butcher, garden, and the field, 

The Robin and his bait, 
Also the rotten tree doth yield 

Me argument of weight ; 
To move me for to watch and pray, 

To strive to be sincere ; 
To take my Cross up day by day, 

And serve the Lord with fear. 

Now I saw m my dream, that they went on, and Great-heart 
before them ; so they went and came to the place where Christian's 
Burden fell off his back, and tumbled into a Sepulchre. Here, 
then, they made a pause ; and here also they blessed God. Now, 
said Christiana, it comes to my mind what was said to us at the 
Gate, to wit : That we should have pardon by vjord and deed : by 
word, that is, by the promise 5 by deed, to wit, in the way it was 
obtained. What the promise is, of that I know something: but 
what it is to have pardon by deed, or in the way that it was ob- 
tained, Mr. Great-heart, I suppose, you know j wherefore, if you 
please, let us hear you discourse thereof. 

Great-heart. Pardon by the deed done, is par- ^ comment upon 
don obtained by some one for another that hath what was said at 
need thereof; not by the person pardoned, but in *^® Gate, or a dis- 

, . , . , f , . , . course of our bc- 

the way, saith another, m which I have obtamed it : jng justified by 
so then, to speak to the question more at large, the Christ. 
pardon that you and Mercy, and these boys, have attained, was 
obtained by another, to wit by Him that let you in at the Gate. 
And He has obtained it in this double way. He has performed 
righteousness to cover you, and spilt his blood to wash you in. 




Halt of the Pilgrims at tVie Cross where Christian became eased of his Burden.] 



Chr. But if he parts with his righteousness to us, what will he 
have for himself? 

Great-heart. He has more righteousness than you have need of, 
or than he needeth himself. 

Chr. Pray, make that appear. 

Great-heart. With all my heart. But first I must premise, that 
He of whom we are now about to speak is One that has not his 
fellow. He has two natures in one person, plain to be distinguished, 
impossible to be divided. Unto each of these Natures a righteous- 
ness belongeth, and each righteousness is essential to that nature : 
so that one may as easily cause the nature to be extinct, as to 
separate its justice or righteousness from it. Of these righteous- 
nesses, therefore, we are not made partakers, so as that they, or 
any of them, should be put upon us, that we might be made just, 
and live thereby. Besides these, there is a righteousness which 
this Person has, as these two natures are joined in one ; and this 
IS not the righteousness of the Godhead^ as distinguished from the 
manhood^ nor the righteousness of the manhood^ as distinguished 
from the Godhead; but a righteousness which standeth in the 
union of both natures, and may properly be called the righteousness 
that is essential to his being prepared of God, to the capacity of 
the mediatory office which he was to be intrusted with. If he 
260 



pilgrim's progress, 26 J 

parts with his first righteousness, he parts with his Godhead ; if 
he parts with his second righteousness, he parts with the purity 
of his manhood ; if he parts with this third, he parts with that per- 
fection which capacitates him for the office of mediation. He has 
therefore another righteousness, which standeth in performance or 
obedience to a revealed will ; and that is it that he puts upon sin- 
ners, and that by which their sins are covered. Wherefore he 
saith, " As by one mail's disobedience many were made sinnei's 
so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous.'''' * 

Chr. But are the other righteousnesses of no use to us ? 

Great-heart. Yes ; for though they are essential to his natures 
and offices, and cannot be communicated unto another, yet it is by 
virtue of them that the righteousness that justifies is for that pur- 
pose efficacious. The righteousness of his Godhead gives virtue 
to his obedience ; the righteousness of his manhood giveth capa- 
bility to his obedience to justify ; and the righteousness that 
standeth m the union of these two natures to his office, giveth 
authority to that righteousness to do the work for which it was 
ordained. 

So, then, here is a righteousness that Christ as God, has no need 
01 ; for he is God without it. Here is a righteousness that Christ, 
as man, has no need of to make him so ; for he is perfect man 
<nthout it. Again, here is a righteousness that Christ, as God- 
'■nan had no need of; for he is perfectly so without it. Here, then, 
is a righteousness that Christ, as God, and as God-man, has no 
"aeed of, with reference to himself, and therefore he can spare it ; 
,:i justifying righteousness, that he, for himself wanteth not, and 
therefore giveth it away : hence 'tis called the gift of righteous- 
ness. This righteousness, since Christ Jesus the Lord has made 
himself under the law, must be given away ; for the law doth not 
only bind him that is under it to do justly^ but to use charity : f 
wherefore he must, or ought, by the law, if he hath two coats, to 
give one to him that hath none. Now, our Lord indeed hath two 
coats, one for himself, and one to spare ; wherefore he freely be 
stows one upon those that have none. And thus, Christiana, ana 
Mercy, and the rest of you that are here, doth your pardon come 
by deed, or by the work of another man. Your Lord Christ is he 
that worked, and hath given away what he wrought for, to the next 
poor beggar he meets. 

But again, in order to pardon by deed, there must something be 
paid to God as a price, as well as something prepared to cover us 
withal. Sin has delivered us up to the just curse of a righteous 

* Rom. V. 19 t Rom. v. 17 



262 pilgrim's progress. 

law. Now, from this curse, we must be justified by way of Re- 
demption, a price being paid for the harms we have done ;* and 
this is by the blood of your Lord, who came and stood in youi 
place and stead, and died your death for your transgressions-i 
Thus has he ransomed you from your transgressions by blood, and 
covered your polluted and deformed souls with righteousness, for 
the sake of which God passeth by you, and will not hurt you, when 
tie comes to judge the world. 

Christiana affected Chr. This is brave. Now I see that there was 
with this way of something to be learned by our being pardoned by 

redemption. ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^_ ^^^^ ^^^^^ j^^ ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ j^^^p 

this in mmd; and, my children, do you remember it also. But, 
sir, was not this it that made my good Christian's Burden fall 
from off his shoulder, and that made him give three leaps for joy ? 
How the strings Great-heart. Yes, it was the belief of this that 
that bound Chris- cut those strings that could not be cut by other 
tian's burden to means ; and it was to give him a proof of the virtue 

of this, that he was suffered to carry his Burden to 

the Cross. 
Chr. I thought so ; for though my heart was lightful and joyous 
before, yet it is ten times more joyous and lightsome now. And I 
am persuaded, by what I have felt, though I have felt but little as 
yet, that if the most burdened man in the world was here, and did 
see and believe as I now do, it would make his heart the more 
merry and blithe. 

How affection to Great-heart. There is not only comfort, and the 
Christ is begot in ease of a burden, brought to us by the sight and 
the soul. consideration of these, but an endeared affection 

begot in us by it; for who can (if he doth but once think that par- 
don comes not only by promise, but thus) but be affected with the 
way and means of his Redemption, and so with the man that hath 
wrought it for him 1 

Chr. True : methinks it makes my heant bleed to think that he 
should bleed for me. Oh ! thou loving One ! Oh ! thou blessed 
One ! Thou deservest to have me ! thou hast bought me ! Thou 
Cause of admira- deservest to have me all ! Thou hast paid for me 
tion. ten thousand times more than I am worth ! No 

marvel that this made the tears stand m my husband's eyes, and 
that it made him trudge so nimbly on ! I am persuaded he wished 
me with him : but, vile wretch that I was, I let him come all alone. 
O, Mercy ! that thy father and mother were here ! yea, and Mrs. 
Timorous also: nay, I wish now, with all my heart, that here was 

•Gal.iii. 13. tRom. viii. 34. 



pilgrim's progress. 263 

Madam Wanton too. Surely, surely, their hearts would he af- . 
fected ; nor could the fear of the one, nor the powerful lust of the 
other, prevail with them to go home again, and refuse to hecome 
good Pilgrims. 

Great-heart. You speak now in the warmth of your affections. 
Will it, think you, he always thus with you ? Besides, this is not 
communicated to every one ; not to every one that did see your 
Jesus bleed. There were that stood by, and that saw the blood 
run from his heart to the ground, and yet were so far off this, that, 
instead of lamenting, they laughed at him, and, instead of becom- 
ing his disciples, did harden their hearts against to be affected with 
him. So that all that you have, my daughters, you Christ and with 
have by peculiar impression, made by a divine con- ^^^^ ^® ^^^ '^^^^^ 
templating upon what I have spoken to you. Re- '^ ^ ''"° specia. 
member that 'twas told you, that the Hen, by her common call^ 
gives no meat to her chickens. This you have, therefore, by a 
special grace. 

Now I saw, in my dream, that they went on until they were 
come to the place that Simple, and Sloth, and Pre- simpio, sioth, and 
sumption, lay and slept in, when Christian went Presumption hang 
by on pilgrimage; and behold they were hanged ^^' ^"^^^^'^^y- 
up in irons a little way oflf on the other side. 

Then said Mercy to him that was their guide and conductor. 
What are these three men ? and for what are they hanged there ? 

Great-heart. These three men were men of very bad qualities : 
they had no mind to be Pilgrims themselves, and whomsoever they 
could, they hindered. They were for sloth and folly themselves, 
and whomsoever they could persuade, they made so too; and 
withal taught them to presume that they should do well at last. 
They were asleep when Christian went by, and now you go by, 
they are hanged. 

Mercy. But could they persuade any to be of their opinion ? 

Great-heart. Yes ; they turned several out of the way. There 
was Slow-pace, that they persuaded to do as they. „, . 

rrn 1 •! 1 • 1 fv7 ' -I • 1 Their ci'imes. 

They also prevailed with one Short-ioind, with one 

No-heart, with one Linger-aftei^-lust ; and with one Sleepy-head ; 
and with a young woman, her name was Dull, to turn out of the 
way, and become as they. Besides, they brought up an ill report 
of y ar Lord, persuading others that he was a hard task-master, 
they also brought up an evil report of the Good Land, saying, it 
was not half so good as some pretended it was. They also began 
to vilify his servants, and to count the very best of them meddle- 
some, troublesome, busy-bodies. Further, they would call ths 



8G4 pilgrim's progress. 

bread of God husks ; the comforts of his children, /ancies ; the 
avei and labour of Pilgrims, things to no purpose. 

Nay, said Christiana, if they were such, they shall never be be- 
♦^'■ailed by me. They have but what they deserve : and I think it 
is well that they stand so near the highway, that others may see 
and take warnmg. But had it not been well, if their crimes had 
been engraven in some plate of iron or brass, and left here, where 
they did their mischiefs, for a caution to other bad men ? 

Great-heart. So it is, as you may well perceive, if you will go 
a little to the wall. 

Mercy. No, no, let them hang, and their names rot, and their 
crimes live for ever against them. I think it a high favour that 
they were hanged afore we came hither ; who knows else what 
they might have done to such poor women as we are ! 

Then she turned it into a song, saymg : — 

Now then, you three, hang there, and be a sign 
To all that shall against the truth combine ; 
And let him that comes after fear this end, 
If unto Pilgrims he is not a friend. 
And thou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
That unto Holiness opposers are. 

Thus they went on, till they came to the foot of the hill Difii 
culty, where again the good Mr. Great-heart took an occasion to 
tell them of what happened there when Christian himself went by. 
So he had them first to the spring : Lo ! saith he, this is the spring 
that Christian drank of before he went up this hill, and then it was 
,r^- .-^ , . clear and good : but now it is dirty with the feet 

'Tis difficult get- - f n . •, -r^., . , 

ting of good doc- oi some that are not desirous that Pilgrims here 
trine in erroneous should quench their thirst. Thereat Mercy said, 
times. j^^^ ^jjy gQ envious, trow ? But, said their guide. 

It will do if taken up, and put into a vessel that is sweet and good ; 
for then the dirt will sink to the bottom, and the water come out 
b)- itself more clear. Thus, therefore, Christiana and her com- 
panions were compelled to do. They took it up, and put it into 
an earthern pot, and so let it stand till the dirt was gone to the 
bottom, and then they drank thereof. 

Next he showed them the two by-ways that were at the foot of 
the hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost themselves j and, 
said he, these are dangerous paths. Two were here cast away 
The paths, though when Christian came by. And although, as you 
barred up, wiU not ^ ^^^^^ ^ ^^^ ^^^^^ Stopped up with chains, 

keep all from go- ' , ,. , i i i -n 

ing in them. posts, and a ditch, yet there are those that will 

choose to adventure here, rather than take the pains to go up this hill. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 265 

Chr. " The Avay of transgressors is hard."* It is a wonder that 
they can get into these ways without danger of breaking their 
necks. 

Great-heart. They will venture ; yea, if at any time any of the 
King's servants doth happen to see them, and doth call upon them, 
and tell them that they are in the wrong way, and do bid them 
beware of the danger, then they will railingly return them answer, 
and say, "As for the word that thou hast spoken unto us in the 
name of the King, we will not hearken unto thee ; but we will 
certainly do whatsoever thing goeth out of our own mouths."t 
Nay, if you look a little farther, you shall see that these ways are 
made cautionary enough, not only by these posts, and ditch, and 
chain, but also by being hedged up j yet they will choose to go 
there. 

Chr. They are idle, they love not to take pains *, r^^^ reason whv 
up-hill way is unpleasant to them. So it is fulfill- some do ciioose to 
ed unto them, as it is written, " Tlie way of the so in by-ways. 
slothful man is as a hedge of thorns.^^X Yea, they will rather 
choose to walk upon a snare than to go up this hill, and the rest 
of this way to the city. 

Then they set forAvard, and began to go up the 
hill J and up the hill they went; but, before they pUj^j^^ j^^J.' *^^ 
got to the top, Christiana began to pant, and said, 
I dare say this is a breathing hill : no marvel if they that love their 
ease more than their souls choose to themselves a smoother way. 
Then said Mercy, I must sit down ; also the least of the children 
began to cry. Come, come, said Great-heart, sit not down here, 
for a little above is the Prince's Arbour. Then took he the little 
boy by the hand, and led him up thereto. 

When they were come to the Arbour, they were 
very willing to sit down, for they were all in a ?J ^^ ^" ^® 
pelting heat. Then said Mercy, " Hoio sweet is 
rest to them that labour .'"§ And how good is the Prince of pil- 
grims to provide such resting-places for them ! Of this Arbour I 
have heard much ; but I never saw it before. But here let us be- 
ware of sleeping ; for, as I have heard, it cost poor Christian dear. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart to the little ones, Come, my pretty 
boys, how do you do ? What think you now of ^he little boys an- 
going on pilgrimage ? Sir, said the least, I was swer to the guide, 
almost beat out of heart ; but I thank you for lend- ^nd also to Mercy. 
ing me a hand at my need. And I remember now what my mother 
hath told me, namely, that the way to heaven is as a ladder, and 

• Prov. xlii. 15. t Jer. xliv. 16, 17. X Prov. xv. 19. § Matth. xi. 28. 
23 



266 « pilgrim's progress. 

the way to hell is as down a hill. But I had rather go up the 
ladder to life, than down the hill to death. 

Then said Mercy, but the proverb is, " To go down the hill 
is easy." But James said, (for that was his name,) The day is 
coming, when, in my opinion, going down the hill will be the 
hardest of all. 'Tis a good boy, said his master; thou hast given 
her a right answer. Then Mercy smiled ; but the little boy did 
blush. 

Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bit, a little 
selves^^ ^*^^ ^"^" ^° sweeten your mouths, while you sit here to rest 
your legs ? for I have here a piece of pomegranate, 
which Mr. Interpreter put into my hand just when I came out of 
his door ; he gave me also a piece of a honeycomb, and a little 
bottle of spirits. I thought he gave you something, said Mercy, 
because he called you aside. Yes, so he did, said the other ; but, 
said Christiana, it shall be still as I said it should, when at first 
we came from home : thou shalt be a sharer in all the good that I 
nave, because thou so willingly didst become my companion. 
Then she gave to them, and they did eat, both Mercy and the boys. 
And, said Christiana to Mr. Great-heart, Sir, will you do as we ? 
But he answered. You are going on pilgrimage, and presently I 
shall return ; much good may what you have do to you ! at home I 
eat the same every day. Now, when they had eaten and drank, 
and had chatted a little longer, their guide said to them. The day 
wears away ; if you think good, let us prepare to be going. So 
Christiana forgets they got up to go, and the little boys went before : 
hei bottle of spir- but Christiana forgot to take her bottle of spirits 
''^' with her ; so she sent her little boy back to fetch 

it. Then said Mercy, I think this is a losing place. Here Chris- 
tian lost his Roll ; and here Christiana left her bottle behind her. 
Sir, what is the cause of this 1 So their guide made answer, and 
said, The cause is sleep, or forgetfulness : some sleep when they 
should keep awake, and some forget when they should remember : 
and this is the very cause why often, at the resting-places, some 
Pilgrims, in some thmgs, come off losers. Pilgrims should watch, 
and remember what they have already received under their great- 
est enjoyments; but, for want of doing so, ofttimes 
their rejoicing ends in tears, and their sunshine in 
a cloud ; witness the story of Christian at this place. 

When they were come to the place where Mistrust and Timorous 
met Christian to persuade him to go back for fear of the Lions, 
ihey perceived as it were a stage, and before it, towards tne road, a 
Dropd plate, with a copy of verses written thereon, and underneath 



pilgrim's progress. 867 

fhe reason of raising up that stage in that place rendered. The 
verses were these : — 

Let him that sees this stage, take heed 

Unto his heart and tongue ; 
Lest, if he do not, here he speed 

As some have long agone. 

The words underneath the verses were: — " This stage was built 
to punish those upon, who, through timorousness or mistrust, shall 
be afraid to go farther on pilgrimage. Also, on this stage, both 
Mistrust and Timorous were burned through the tongue with a hot 
iron, for endeavouring to hinder Christian on his journey." 
Then said Mercy, This is much like to the saying of the beloved,* 
" What shall be given unto thee ? or what shall be done unto thee, 
thou false tongue ! Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of 
juniper." 

So they went on till they came within sight of the Lions. Now 
Mr. Great-heart was a strong man, so he was not 
afraid of a Lion: but yet, when they were come thtseZth^vZ 
up to the place where the Lions were, the boys go on when there 
that went before were now glad to cringe behind, is no danger, but 
for they were afraid of the Lions ; so they stepped blTcome!" ^'''"'" 
back, and went behind. At this their guide smiled, 
and said. How now, my boys ; do you love to go before when no 
danger doth approach, and love to come behind so soon as the Lions 
appear ? 

Now, as they went on, Mr. Great-heart drew his sword, with an 
intent to make away for the Pilgrims in spite of the q^ ^^.j^ ^^^ q;^^. 
Lions. Then there appeared one that, it seems, and of his bacising 
had taken upon him to back the Lions ; and he said ^^^ Lions, 
to the Pilgrims' guide. What is the cause of your coming hither ? 
Now the name of that man was Grim-, or Bloody-man, because of 
his slaying of Pilgrims, and he was of the race of the Giants. 

Then said the Pilgrims' guide. These women and children are 
going on pilgrimage, and this is the way they must go ; and go it 
they shall, in spite of thee and the Lions. 

Grim. This is not their way, neither shall they go tnerem. I 
am come forth to withstand them, and to that end wilt back the 
Lions. 

Now, to say truth, by reason of the fierceness of the Lions, and 
of the grim carriage of him that did back them, this way of late had 
been much unoccupied, and was almost all grown over with grass, 

' Psakn cxx. 3, 4. 




[Gi-eaf-hf^art. f^iant Grhn, audtiie Lions.] 

Then said Christiana, Though the highways have been unocetj- 
pied heretofore, and though the travellers have been made, in times 
past, to walk through by-paths, it must not be so, now I am risen ; 
" Now I am risen a mother in Israel."* 

Then he swore by the Lions that it should ; and therefore bid 
them turn aside, for they should nat have passage there. 

A fic'ht betwixt ^^^ Great-heart, their guide, made first his ap- 
Grim and Great- proach unto Grim and laid so heavily at him with 
'^^^^^^ his sword, that he forced him to a retreat. 

Then said he that attempted to back the Lions, Will you slay 
me upon my own ground ? 

Great-heart. 'Tis the King's highway that we are in, and in his 
way it is that thou hast placed the Lions ; but these women, and 

* Judges V. 6, 7 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 269 

these children, though weak, shall hold on their way in spite of thy 
Lions. And with that he gave him again a downright blow, and 
brought him upon his knees. With this blow also he broke his 
helmet ; and with the next he cut off an arm. Then did the Giant 
roar so hideously, that his voice frightened the wo- 
men ; and yet they were glad to see him lie sprawl- ^' 
ing upon the ground. Now, the Lions were chained, and so of 
themselves could do nothing; wherefore, when old Grim, that 
intended to back them, was dead, Mr. Great-heart said to the Pil- 
grims, Come now, and follow me, and no hurt shall happen to you 
from the Lions. They therefore went on ; but the 
women trembled as they passed by them ; and the ^f^J^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^* 
boys also looked as if they would die ; but they all 
got by without further hurt. 

Now, when they were within sight of the porter's lodge, they 
soon came up unto it ; but they made the more haste after this to 
go thither, because it is dangerous travelling there in the night. 
So when they were come to the Gate, the guide 
knocked, and the porter cried, Who is there? but po^r'yXdVe! ^^^ 
as soon as the guide had said. It is I, he knew his 
voice, and came down; for the guide had oft before that come 
thither as a conductor of Pilgrims. When he was come down, he 
opened the Gate, and seeing the guide standing just before it, (for 
he saw not the women, for they were behind him,) he said unto 
him. How now, Mr. Great-heart? What is your business here so 
late to-night ? I have brought, said he, some Pilgrims hither, 
where, by my Lord's commandment, they must lodge. I had been 
here some time ago, had I not been opposed by the Giant that did 
ise to back the Lions ; but I, after a long and tedious combat with 
hun, have cut him off, and have brought the Pilgrims hither in 
safety. 

Porter. Will you not go in and stay till morning ? 
. Great-heart, No ; I will return to my Lord to- Great-heart at- 

Qio-ht. tempts to go back. 

Chr. Oh, sir ! I know not how to be willing you should leave 
us in our pilgrimage ; you have been so faithful ana so loving to 
us, you have fought so stoutly for us, you have been so hearty m 
counselling of us, that I shall never forget your favour towards us. 

Then said Mercy, O that we might liave thy ^he Pilgrims im- 
company to our journey's end ! How can such poor piore his company 
■women as we hold out in a way so full of troubles stin. 
as this way is, without a friend and defender ? 

Then said James, the youngest of the boys, Pray, sir, be per- 
23* 



270 PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

suaded to go with us, and help us, because we are so weak, and 
the way so dangerous as it is. 

Great-heart. I am at my Lord's commandment. If he shall 

allot me to be your guide quite through, I will willingly wait upon 

you ; but here you failed at first ; for when he bid 

Help lost for want ^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^-^^^ ^^ien you should have 

of asking for. ■' ' •'. i • i 

begged me of him to have gone quite through with 
you, and he would have granted your request. However, at present, 
I must withdraw j and so, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave 
children. Adieu! 

Then the porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of her country 
and of her kindred ; and she said, I come from the city of Destruc- 
tion ; I am a widow woman, and my husband is dead; his name 
was Christian the Pilgrim. How, said the porter, was he your 
husband ? Yes, said she ; and these are his children ; and this, 
pointing to Mercy, is one of my townswomen. Then the porter 
rang his bell, as at such times he is wont, and there came to the 
door one of the damsels, whose name was Humble-inind ; and to 
her the porter said, Go tell it within, that Christiana, the wife of 
Christian, and her children, are come hither on pilgrimage. She 
Joy at the noise of went in, therefore, and told it. ^ But, oh ! what a 
the Pilgrims' com- noise for gladness was there within, when the dam- 
*'"S- sel did but drop that word out of her mouth ! 

So they came with haste to the porter, for Christiana stood still 
at the door. Then some of the most grave said unto her. Come in, 
Christiana ; come in, thou wife of that good man ; come in, thou 
blessed woman; come in, with all that are with thee! So she 
went in, and they followed her that were her children and com- 
panions. Now, when they were gone in, they were had into a 
very large room, where they were bidden to sit down ; so they sal 
down, and the chief of the house were called to see and welcome 
Christians' love is ^^^ guests. Then they came in, and, understand- 
kindiedatthe sight ing who they Were, did salute each one with a kiss, 
of one another. ^indi said. Welcome, ye vessels of the grace of God ' 
welcome to us your friends ! 

Now, because it was somewhat late, and because the Pilgrims 
were weary with their journey, and also made faint with the sight 
of the fight, and of the terrible Lions, therefore they desired, as 
soon as might be, to prepare to go to rest.* Nay, said those of the 
family, refresh yourselves first with a morsel of meat ; for they 
had prepared for them a lamb, with the accustomed sauce belonging 
thereto ;t for the porter had heard before of their coming, and had 

• Exod, xii, 21. t John i. 29. 



PILGRIM^S PROGRESS. 271 

told it to them within. So when they had supped, and ended their 
prayer with a psalm, they desired they might go to rest. But let 
us, said Christiana, if we may be so bold as to choose, be in that 
chamber that was my husband's, when he was here ; so they had 
them up thither, and they lay all in a room. When they were at 
rest, Christiana and Mercy entered into discourse about things thai 
were convenient. 

Chr. Little did I think once, when my husband went on pil- 
grimage, that I should ever have followed. 

Mercy. And you as little thought of laying in Christ's bosom is 
his bed, and in his chamber to rest, as you do now. for all Pilgrims. 

Chr. And much less did I ever think of seeing his face with 
comfort, and of worshipping the Lord the King with him j and yet 
Qow I believe I shall. 

Mercy. Hark ! Don't you hear a noise ? 

Chr. Yes ; t' is, I believe, a noise of music, for ^xnsic 
)oy that we are here. 

Mercy. Wonderful ! Music in the house, music in the heart, and 
aiusic also in Heaven for joy that we are here ! 

Thus they talked awhile, and then betook themselves to sleep. 
Bo in the morning, when they were awake, Chris- Mercy did laugh in 
?iana said to Mercy, What was the matter that you her sleep. 
did laugh in your sleep to-night? I suppose you was in a dream? 

Mercy. So I was, and a sweet dream it was ; but are you sure 
I laughed ? 

Chr. Yes ; you laughed heartily : but pr'ythee, Mercy, tell me 
thy dream. 

Mercy. I was a-dreamed that I sat all alone in a Percy's dream, 
solitary place, and was bemoaning of the hardness 
of my heart. Now, I had not sat there long, but methought many 
were gathered about me to see me, and to hear what it was that I 
said. So they hearkened, and I went on bemoaning the hardness 
of my heart. At this, some of them laughed at me, some called me 
fool, and some began to thrust me about. With that, what her dream 
methought I looked up, and saw one coming with '^vas. 
wings towards me. So he came directly to me, and said, Mercy, 
what aileth thee ? Now, when he had heard me make my com- 
plaint, he said, " Peace he to thee ;" he also wiped mine eyes with 
his handkerchief, and clad me in silver and gold.* He put a chain 
about my neck, and ear-rings in mine ears, and a beautiful crown 
upon my head. Then he took me by the hand, and said, Mercy, 
come after me. So he went up, and I followed, till we came at a 

•Ezek. xvL 8-12- 



2'id pilgrim's progress. 

golden Gate. Then he knocked ; and when they within had opened, 
the Man went in, and I followed him up to a throne upon which 
One sat ; and he said to me. Welcome, daughter. The place 
looked bright and twinkling like the stars, or rather like the sun, 
and I thought that I saw your husband there : so I awoke from 
my dream. But did I laugh ? 

Chr. Laugh ! ay, and well you might, to see yourself so well. 
For you must give me leave to tell you that I believe it was a good 
dream, and that as you have begun to find the first part true, so 
you shall find the second at last. " God speaks once, yea twice, 
yet man perceiveth it not; in a dream, in a vision of the night, 
when deep sleep falleth upon men^ in slumbering upon the bedJ^'f 
We need not, when a-bed, lie awake to talk with God ; He can 
visit us while we sleep, and cause us then to hear His voice. Our 
heart oftentimes wakes while we sleep, and God can speak to that 
either by words, by proverbs, by signs and similitudes, as well as 
if one was awake. 

Mercy glad of her ^ercy. Well, I am glad of my dream, for I hope 
dream. ere long to see it fulfilled, to the making of me 

laugh again. 

Chr. I think it is now time to rise, and to know what we must do. 

Mercy. Pray, if they invite us to stay a while, let us willingly 
accept of the profier. I am the willinger to stay a while here, to 
grow better acquainted with these Maids ; methinks Prudence, 
Piety, and Charity, have very comely and sober countenances. 

Chr. We shall see what they will do. 

So, when they were up and ready, they came down ; and they 
asked one another of their rest, and if it was comfortable or not. 

Very good, said Mercy ; it was one of the best night's lodging 
that ever I had in my life. 

Then said Prudence and Piety, If you will be persuaded to stay 
here a while, you shall have what the House will afford. 

Ay, and that with a very good will, said Charity. 
They stay here So they consented, and stayed there about a month 
some time. or above, and became very profitable one to another. 

Prudence desires -^-nd because Prudence would see how Christiana 
to catechise Chris- had brought up her children, she asked leave of 
tidna's children. j^^^. ^^ catechise them ; so she gave her free consent. 
Then she began with the youngest, whose name was James. 

James catechised. ^^^ ^^^ ^^i^' ^°^«' J^"^^^^ canst thou tell me 
who made thee ? 
James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. 

* Job xxxiii. 14. 15, 



pilgrim's progress. 273 

Prud. Good boy. And canst thou tell who saves thee ? 

James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. 

Prud. Good boy still. But how doth God the Father save thee 1 

James. By his grace. 

Prud. How d(?th God the Son save thee ? 

James. By his righteousness, death and blood, and life. 

Prud. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee ? 

James. By his illumination, by his renovation, and by his pres- 
ervation. 

Then said Prudence to Christiana, You are to be commended 
for thus bringing up your children. I suppose I need not ask the 
rest these questions, since the youngest of them can answer them 
so well. I will therefore now apply myself to the youngest next. 

Then she said. Come, Joseph, (for his name was j,,eph catechised 
Joseph,) will you let me catechise you? 

Jos. With all my heart. 

Prud. What is man. 

Jos. A reasonable creature, so made by God, as my brother said. 

Prud. What is supposed by this \irorA saved? 

Jos. That man by sin has brought himself into a state of cap- 
tivity and misery. 

Prud. What is supposed by his being saved by the Trinity ? 

Jos. That sin is so great and mighty a tyrant, that none can pull 
us out of its clutches but God ; and that God is so good and loving 
to man, as to pull him indeed out of this miserable state. 

Prud. What is God's design in saving of poor men ? 

Jos. The glorifying of his name, of his grace and justice, &c., 
and the everlasting happiness of his creature. 

Prud. Who are they that must be saved ? 

Jos. Those that accept of his salvation. 

Prud. Good boy, Joseph ; thy mother hath taught thee well, and 
thou hast hearkened unto what she has said unto thee. 

Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest but one, 
Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should cate- 

, . n Samuel catechised. 

chise you ? 

Sam. Yes, forsooth, if you please. 

Prud. What is heaven ? 

Sam. A place and state most blessed, because God dwelleth 
there. 

Prud. What is hell ? 

Sam. A place and state most woful, because it is the dwelling- 
place of sin, the devil, and death. 

Prud. Why wouldest thou go to heaven ? 



^7A pilgrim's progress. 

Sam. That I may see God, and serve him without weariness ; 
that I may see Christ, and love him everlastingly : that I, may have 
the fulness of the Holy Spirit in me, which I can by no means 
here enjoy. 

Prud. A very good boy also, and one that has learned well. 
Matthew cate- Then she addressed herself to the eldest, whose 

chised. name was Matthew j and she said to him, Come, 

Matthew, shall I also catechise you ? 

Matth. With a very good will. 

Prud. I ask then, if there was ever any thing that had a being 
antecedent to, or before God ? 

Matth. No ; for God is eternal ; nor is there any thing, excepting 
himself, that had a being, until the beginning of the first day : 
" For in six days the Lord made heaven and earthy the sea, and 
all that in them Z5." 

Prud. What do you think of the Bible ? 

Matth. It is the Holy Word of God. 

Prud. Is there nothing written therein but what you under- 
stand ? 

Matth. Yes, a great deal. 

Prud. What do you do when you meet with such places therein 
that you do not understand ? 

Matth. I think God is wiser than I ; I pray also that he will 
please to let me know all therein that he knows will be for my good. 

Prud. How believe you as touching the resurrection of the dead? 

Matth. I believe they shall rise the same that was buried, the 
same in nature, though not in corruption. And I believe this upon 
a double account : First, Because God has promised it ; secondly, 
Because he is able to perform it. 
_ J , Then said Prudence to the boys, You must still 

Prudence's con- i ~ i i 

elusion upon the hearken to your mother, lor she can learn you more. 
catechising of the You must also diligently give ear to what good 
^°'^^' talk you shall hear from others : for, for your sakes 

do they speak good things. Observe also, and that with careful 
ness, what the heavens and the earth do teach you ; but especially 
be much in the meditation of that book which was the cause of 
your Father's becoming a Pilgrim. I, for my part, my children, 
will teach you what I can while you are here, and shall be glad if 
you will ask me questions that tend to godly edifying. 
xNovv, by that these Pilgrims had been at this place a week, 

Mercy had a visiter, that pretended some good-will 
sweet^hJart. ^^ ^ ^°^° ^^^' ^^^ ^^^ name was Mr. Brisk, a man of 

some breeding, and that pretended to religion, but 



pilgrim's pro ss. 275 

a man that stuck very close to the world. So he came once or 
twice, or more, to Mercy, and offered love unto her. Now, Mercy 
was of a fair countenance, and therefore the more alluring. Her 
mind also was to be always busying of herself in doing ; for when 
she had nothing to do for herself, she would be making of hose and 
garments for others, and would bestow them upon them that had 
need. And Mr. Brisk, not knowing where or how she disposed of 
what she made, seemed to be greatly taken, for that he found her 
never idle. I will warrant her a good housewife, quoth he to himself. 

Mercy then revealed the business to the maidens p^jgrcv inquires of 
that were of the house, and inquired of them con- the maids concern- 
cerning him, for they did know him better than she. ^s Mr. Brisk. 
So they told her, that he was a very busy young man, and one that 
pretended to religion ; but was, as they feared, a stranger to the 
power of that which is good. 

Nay, then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him ; for I pur- 
pose never to have a clog to my soul. 

Prudence then replied, That there needed no great matter of 
discouragement to be given him ; her continuing so as she had be- 
gun to do for the poor would quickly cool his courage. 

So the next time he comes, he finds her at her 
old work, a-making of things for the poor. Then cyand Mr. Brisk.' 
said he. What ! always at it ? Yes, said she, 
either for myself or for others. And what canst thee earn a-day ? 
quoth he. I do these things, said she, " That I may be rich in 
good iuo7-ks, laijing a good foundation against the time to come^ 
that I may lay hold on eternal life.^^^ Why, pr'ythee, what dost 
thou with them? said he. Chothe the naked, said 
she. With that his countenance fell. So he for- f^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^''■« 
bore to come at her again ; and when he was asked 
the reason why, he said, that "Mercy was a pretty lass, but trou- 
bled with ill conditions." 

When he had left her, Prudence said, Did I not „ . , 

111 1 ^^fl^^-»•^ ii r ^ i n MerCV IH the praO 

tell thee that Mr. Brisk would soon forsake thee ? ^ice of mercy re- 
yea, he will raise up an ill report of thee; for, not- jected, while Mer- 

withstanding his pretence to religion, and his seem- ^^ *" ^^® "^™^ °^ 

iVIcrcv is liK6cl 
ing love to Mercy, yet Mercy and he are of tempers 

so different, that I believe they will never come together. 

Mercy. I might have had husbands before now, though 1 spoke 

not of it to any ; but they were such as did not like my conditions, 

though never did any of them find fault with my person. So they 

and I could not agree. 

• 1 Tim. vi. 17-19. 



87G PILGRUM^S PROGRESS. 

Prud. Mercy in our days is little set by, any farther than as to 
its name : the practice which is set forth by thy conditions, there 
are but few that can abide. 

Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I will 
ercy's reso u- ^-^ ^ ^^^id, or my conditions shall be to me as a 

lions. ' ■' 

husband ; for I cannot change my nature ; and to 
have one that lies cross to me in this, that I purpose never to admit 
TT HT > c-c of as long- as I live. I had a sister named Boun- 

How Mercy's sis- , » 

ter was served by tiful, that was married to one of these churls ; but 
her husband j^g and she could never agree : but because my 

sister was resolved to do as she had begun, that is, to show kind- 
ness to the poor, therefore her husband first cried her down at the 
Cross, and then turned her out of his doors. 

Prud. And yet he was a professor, I warrant you. 

Mercy. Yes, such a one as he was, and of such as he, the world 
IS now full ; but I am for none of them all. 
,, ^ ^ „ . , Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell 

Matthew falls sick. . , n i • • i i • r ^ 

Sick, and his sickness was sore upon him, lor he 
was much pained in his bowels, so that he was with it at times 
pulled, as it were, both ends together. There dwelt also, not far 
from thence, one Mr. Skill, an ancient and well-approved physi- 
cian. So Christiana desired it, and they sent for him, and he came. 

When he was entered the room, and had a little 
upes o con- QJ^ggj-ygfj ^]^g j^Qy j^g concluded that he was sicK 
science. ^ ' 

of the gripes. Then he said to his mother. What 

diet has Matthew of late fed upon ? Diet, said Christiana, nothing 
but what is wholesome. The physician answered, 

jW^mem.^^''''^"'^ ^^^^^ ^°y ^^^ ^^^^ tampering with something tha 
lies in his maw undigested, and that will not away 

without means ; and I tell you he must be purged, or else he will 

die. 

Samuel puts his Then said Samuel, Mother, what was that which 

mother in nnind my brother did gafther up and eat, so soon as we 

of the fruit his ^ygrg gome from the gate that is at the head of this 
brother did eat. _ .^^ . ? . , , 

way I You know that there was an orchard on 
the left hand, on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees 
hung over the wall, and my brother did pluck and eat. 

True, my child, said Christiana, he did take thereof and did eat; 
naughty boy as he was ; I chid him, and yet he would eat thereof. 

Skill. I knew he had eaten something that was not wholesome 
food ; and that food, to wit, that fruit, is even the most hurtful of 
all. It is fruit of Beelzebub's orchard : I do marvel that none 
did warn vou of it : manv have died thereof. 



pilgrim's progress. 277 

Then Christiana began to cry ; and she said, O naughty boy 
and O careless mother, what shall I do for my son ! 

Skill. Come, do not be too much dejected; the boy may do well' 
again, but he must purge and vomit. 

Chr. Pray, sir, try the utmost of your skill with him, whateTei 
it costs. 

SMIL Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable. 

So he made him a purge, but it was too weak : 'twas said it was 
made of the blood of a goat, the ashes of a heifer, and with some 
of the juice of hyssop, &c.* When Mr. Skill had seen that that 
purge was too weak, he made him one to the pur- _ , . ,, 

^ ^ , , ' , . ^7 . ^. J. The Latin I borrow. 

pose: 'twas made ex came et sanguine Christi;j 
(you know physicians give strange medicines to their patients :) 
and it was made into pills, with a promise or two, and a propor- 
tionable quantity of salt. Now, he was to take them three at a 
time, fasting, in half a quarter of a pint of the Tears of Repent- 
ance.:}: When this potion was prepared and 
brought to the boy, he was loath to take it, though ^^^l the^physic. 
torn with the gripes, as if he should be pulled in 
pieces. Come, come, said the physician, you must take it. It goes 
against my stomach, said the boy. / must have you take it, said 
his mother. I shall vomit it up again, said the boy. Pray, sir, 
said Christiana to Mr. Skill, how does it taste ? It has no ill taste, 
said the doctor ; and with that she touched one of r^^^^ mother tastes 
the pills with the tip of her tongue. Oh, Matthew! it and persuades 
said she, this potion is sweeter than honey. If thou ^""• 
lovest thy mother, if thou lovest thy brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, 
if thou lovest thy life, take it. So with much ado, after a short 
prayer for the blessing of God upon it, he took it; and it wrought 
kindly with him. It caused him to purge, it caused him to sleep, 
and rest quietly ; it put him into a fine heat, and breathing sweat, 
and did quite rid him of his gripes. So in a Jfttle time he got up, 
and walked about with a stafi", and would go from room to room, 
and talk with Prudence, Piety, and Charity, of his distemper, and 
how he was healed. 

So, when the boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr. Skill, say 
;ng, Sir, what will content you for your pains and a word of God in 
care to and of my child ? And he said, You must the hand of faith. 
pay the Master of the College of Physicians according to rules 
made in that case, and provided. § 

But, sir, said she, what is this pill good for else ? 

Skill. It is a universal pill ; it is good against all the diseases 

• Heb. X. 1-4. t John vi. 54-57. Heb. ix. 14. ? Zech. xii. 10. § Heb. xiii, 11-15. 

24 



278 pilgrim's progress. 

The pill a univer- that Pilgrims are incident to ; and, when it is well 
eai remedy. prepared, will keep good time out of mind. 

Chr. Pray, sir, make me up twelve boxes of them ; for, if I can 
get these, I will never take other physic. 

Skill. These pills are good to prevent diseases, as well as to 
cure when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, and stand to it, that 
if a man will but use this physic as he should, " it will make him 
In a glass of the ^^'^^ f^^ erer."* But, good Christiana, thou must 
Tears of Repent- give these pills no Other way but as I have pre- 
^"*^®- scribed ; for, if you do, they will do no good. So 

he gave unto Christiana physic for herself and her boys, and for 
Mercy ; and, bid Matthew take heed how he ate any more green 
plumhs, and kissed them, and went his way. 

It was told you before, that Prudence bid the boys, that if at any 
time they would, they should ask her some questions that might be 
profitable, and she would say something to them. 

Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her 
why, for the most part, physic should be bitter to 
our palates ? 

Prud. To show how unwelcome the word of God, and the 
effects thereof, are to a carnal heart. 

Of the effects of Matth. Why does physic, if it does good, purge 
physic. and cause to vomit ? 

Prud. To show that the Word, when it works effectually, cleans- 
eth the heart and mind ; for, look, what the one doth to the body, 
the other doth to the soul. 

Of fire and of the Matth. What should we learn by seeing the flame 
sun. of our fire go upward, and by seeing the beams and 

sweet influences of the sun strike downward 1 

Prud. By the going up of the j5re, we are taught to ascend to 
heaven by fervent and hot desires. And by the sun's sending his 
heat, beams, and sweet influences downward, we are taught that 
the Saviour of the world, though high, reacheth down with his 
grace and love to us below. 

^, ^ , ^ Matth. Where have the clouds their water ? 

Of the clouds, j r\ . r .^. 

Prud. Out of the sea. 
Matth. What may we learn from that ? 
Prud. That ministers should fetch their doctrine from God. 
Matth. Why do they empty themselves upon the earth ? 
Prud. To show that ministers should give out what they know 
of God to the world. 

Matth. Why is the rainbow caused by the sun ? 

• John vi. 50. 



pilgrim's progress. 279 

Prud. To show that the covenant of God's orrace 

n 3 J. • r^^ ' ^ Of the rainbow. 

IS confirmed to us in Christ. 

Matth. Why do the springs come from the sea to 
us through the earth? Of the springs. 

Prud. To show that the grace of God comes to us through the 
body of Christ. 

Matth. Why do some of the springs rise out of the tops of high 
hills'? 

Prud. To show that the spirit of grace shall spring up in some 
that are great and mighty, as well as in many that are poor and 
low. 

Matth. Why doth the fire fasten upon the candle- ^^ ^ 

. , r. Of the candle. 

Wick? 

Prud. To show that, unless Grace doth kindle upon the heart, 
there will be no true light of life in us. 

Matth. Why are the wick and tallow and all spent to maintain 
the light of the candle ? 

Prud. To show that body and soul and all should be at the ser- 
vice of, and spend themselves to maintain in good condition that 
grace of God that is in us. 

Matth. Why doth the Pelican pierce her own 
breast with her bill? 

Prud. To nourish her young ones with her blood, and thereby 
to show, that Christ the Blessed so loved his young, his people, as 
to save them from death by his blood. 

Matth. What may one learn by hearing the cock 

■' JO Of the cock. 

to crow. 

Prud, Learn to remember Peter's sin, and Peter's repentance. 
The cock's crowing shows also that day is coming on ; let then the 
, crowing of the cock put thee in mind of that last and terrible Day 
of Judgment. 

Now, about this time, their month was out ; wherefore they signi 
fied to those of the House, that 'twas convenient for them to up 
and be going. Then said Joseph to his mother, It is proper that 
you forget not to send to the house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him 
to grant that Mr. Great-heart should be sent unto r^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ 
us, that he may be our conductor the rest of our sometimes call the 
way. Good boy, said she, I had almost forgot ! ^^™"S to prayers. 
So she drew up a petition, and prayed Mr. Watchful, the porter, 
to send it by some fit, man to her good friend Mr. Interpreter 3 who, 
when it was come, and he had seen the contents of the petition, 
said to the messenger, Go tell them that I will send him. 

When the family where Christiana was saw that they had a 



280 pilgrim's progress. 

They provide to be purpose to go forward, they called the whole house 
gone on their way. together, to give thanks to their King for sending 
of them such profitable guests as these. Which done, they said 
unto Christiana, And shall we not show thee something, as our 
custom is to do to Pilgrims, on which thou mayst meditate when 
tliou art upon the way ? So they took Christiana, her children, 
and Mercy, into the closet, and showed them one 
of the apples that Eve ate of, and that she also did 
give unto her husband, and that for the eating of which they were 
both turned out of Paradise,* and asked her what she thought thai 
was ? Then Christiana said. It is food or poison ; I know not 
A sight of sin is which. So they opened the matter to her, and she 
amazing. Jield up her hands, and wondered. f 

Then they had her to a place, and showed her 
Jacob's Ladder. Now, at that time, there were 
some Angels ascending upon it.J So Christiana looked and looked 
to see the Angels go up : so did the rest of the company. Then 
they were going into another place to show them something else ; 
but James said to his mother, Pray bid them stay here a little 
A sight of Christ longer, for this is a curious sight. § So they turned 
is taking. again, and stood feeding their eyes with this so 

pleasing a prospect. After this they had them into a place where 
did hang up a golden Anchor : so they bid Chris- 
tiana take it down ; for, said they, you shall have 
it with you ; H for 'tis of absolute necessity that you may lay hold 
of that within the veil, and stand steadfast, in case you should meet 
with turbulent weather; so they were glad thereof. Then they 
Of Abraham offer- took them, and had them to the Mount upon which 
ing up Isaac. Abraham our father offered up Isaac his son, and 

showed them the altar, the wood, \hejire and the knife ; for they 
remain to be seen to this very day.iy When they had seen it, they 
held up their hands, and blessed themselves, and said. Oh ! what 
a man, for love to his Master, and for denial to himself, was Abra- 
ham ! After they had showed them all these things, Prudence 
Prudence's virgi- took them into a dining-room, where stood a pair of 
nais. excellent Virginals ; so she played upon them, and 

turned what she had showed them into this excellent song, saying* 

Eve's apple we have showed you ; 

Of that be you aware ! 
You have seen Jacob's ladder too, 

Upon which Angels are. 

•Gen. iii. 6. tRom. vii. 24. J Gen. xxviii. 12L 

» John i. 14. i John i. 15. Heb, vi. 19. U Gen. xxii. 9. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 281 

An Anchor you received have ; 

But let not these suffice, 
Until v?ith Abraham you have gave 
Your best a sacrifice. 

Now, about this lime, one knocked at the door ; Mr. Great-heart 
so the porter opened, and behold, Mr. Great-heart '^""^^s again, 
was there: but when he Avas come in, what joy was there! Fc 
it came now afresh again into their minds, how but a little whiK 
ago he had slain old Grim Bloody-man the giant, and had delivered 
them from the Lions. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart to Christiana and to He brings a token 
Mercy, My Lord has sent each of you a bottle of ^^^ ^^^ Lord with 
wine, and also some parched corn, together with a 
couple of pomegranates ; he has also sent the boys some figs and 
raisins, to refresh you in your way. 

Then they addressed themselves to their journey, and Prudence 
and Piety went along with them. When they came to the gate, 
Christiana asked the porter, if any of late went by ? He said. No ; 
only one some time since, who also told me that of late there had 
been a great robbery committed on the King's Highway as you go ; 
but, said he, the thieves are taken, and will shortly be tried for their 
lives. Then Christiana and Mercy were afraid; but Matthew 
said. Mother, fear nothing as long as Mr. Great-heart is to go with 
us, and to be our conductor. 

Then said Christiana to the porter. Sir, I am Christiana takes 
much obliged to you for all the kindnesses that you ^^^ ^^^^^ °^ t'^e 
have showed me since I came hither, and also for ^°^ ^^' 
that you have been so loving and kind to my children. I know not 
how to gratify your kindness ; wherefore pray, as a token of my 
respect to you, accept of this small mite. So she put a gold angel 
in his hand ; and he made her low obeisance, and The porter's bies- 
said, "Let thy garments be always white, and let ^^^s- 
thy head want no ointment. Let Mercy live, and not die ; and let 
not her works be few." And to the boys he said, " Do you fly 
youthful lusts, and follow after godliness with them that are grave 
and wise ; so shall you put gladness into your mother's heart, and 
obtain praise of all that are sober-minded." So they thanked the 
porter, and departed. 

Now I saw, in my dream, that they went forward until they were 
come to the brow of the hill, where Piety, bethinking herself, cried 
out, Alas ! I have forgot what I intended to bestow upon Christiana 
and her companions. I will go back and fetch it : so she ran and 
fetched it. While she was gone, Christiana thought she heard, in 
24* 



282 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

a grove a little way off on the right hand, a most curious melodious 
note, with words much like these :— 

Through all my life thy favoiir is 

So frankly show'd to me ; 
That in thy house for evermore 

My dwelling-place shall be. 

And, listening still, she thought she heard another answer it, 
saying : — 

For why 1 the Lord our God is good ; 

His mercy is for ever sure : 
His truth at all times firmly stood, 

And shall from age to age endure. 

So Christiana asked Prudence, Who it was that made those 
curious notes? They are, said she, our country birds ;* they sing 
these notes but seldom, except it be at the spring, when the flowers 
appear, and the sun shines warm ; and then you may hear them 
all day long. I often said she, go out to hear them ; we also oft- 
times keep them tame in our house. They are very fine company 
for us when we are melancholy ; also they make the woods, and 
groves, and solitary places, places desirous to be in. 

By this time Piety was come again ; so she said to Christiana, 
Piety bestoweth ^^^^ ^^^^j ^ ^^^^ brought thee a scheme of all 
something on them those things that thou hast seen at our house ; upon 
at parting. which thou mayst look when thou findest thyself 

forgetful, and call those things again to remembrance for thy edifi- 
cation and comfort. 

Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley of Humil- 
iation. It was a steep hill, and the way was slippery ; but they 
were very careful ; so they got down pretty well. When they 
were down in the Valley, Piety said to Christiana, This is the 
place where Christian, your husband, met with that foul fiend 
Apollyon, and where they had that dreadful fight that they had. 
I know you cannot but have heard thereof. But be of good cour- 
age ; as long as you have here Mr. Great-heart to be your guide 
and conductor, we hope you will fare the better. So when these 
two had committed the Pilgrims unto the conduct of their guide, 
he went forward, and they went after. 

Mr. Great-heart at '^^^^ ^^^^ ^^'' Great-heart, We need not be so 
the Valley of Hu- afraid of this Valley, for here is nothing to hurt us, 
miiiation. unless we procure it to ourselves. 'Tis true. Chris- 

tian did here meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had a sore 

* Cant. a. 11, 12. 



riLGRIM's PROGRESS. 283 

<*j«ibat ; but that fray was the fruit of those slips that he got in his 
going down the hill ; for they that get slips there must look for 
combats here. And hence it is that this Valley has got so hard a 
name J Lt:.^2 common people, when they hear that some frightful 
thing has befallen such a one in such a place, are of opinion that 
that pla e is haunted with some foul fiend or evil spirit ; when, 
alas ! it is for the fruit of their own doing, that such things do befall 
them there. 

This Valley of Humiliation is of itself as fruitful _, 

^ ■' , ^. , _ The reason why 

a place as any the crow llies oyer ; and I am per- christian was so 
suaded, if we could hit upon it, we might find, beset in the Vaiiey 
somewhere here abouts, something that might give of Humiliation, 
us an account why Christian was so hardly beset in this place. 

Then said James to his mother, Lo ! yonder stands a pillar, and 
it looks as if something was written thereon : let 
us go and see what it is. So they went, and found sc.rjpttoiTon it"'"' 
there written, ^^ Let Christiati's slips, before he 
came hither, and the battles that he met with in this place, be a 
warning- to those that come after" Lo ! said their guide, did not 
I tell you that there was something hereabouts that would give 
intimation of the reason why Christian was so hard beset in this 
place 1 Then turning himself to Christiana, he said. No dispar- 
agement to Christian more than to many others whose hap and lot 
it was ; for it is easier going up than down this hill, and that can 
be said but of few hills in all these parts of the world. But we 
will leave the good man; he is at rest; he also had a brave vic- 
tory over his enemy : let Him grant, that dwelleth above, that we 
fare no worse, when we come to be tried, than he ! 

But we will come again to this Valley of Humil- 
iation. It is the best and most fruitful piece of pfj'e^^"'^^^'^''^ 
ground in all these parts. It is fat ground, and, as 
you see, consisteth much in meadows; and if a man was to come 
here in the summer-time, as we do now, if he knew not any thing 
before thereof, and if he also delighted himself in the sight of his 
eyes, he might see that which would be delightful to him. Behold 
how green this Valley is ! also how beautified with lilies !* I have 
known many labouring men that have got good estates in this 
Valley of Humiliation.f " For God resisteth the ^^^ ^-^rwe in tlie 
'proucl, but giveth grace to the humble ;% for indeed Valley of Humiiia- 
it is a very fruitful soil, and doth bring forth by ^^°^' 
handfuls. Some also have wished that the next way to their Fa- 
ther's house were here, that they might be troubled no more with 

•Songii. 1. 1 1 Pet. V. 5. { James iv. 5. 




[The contented Shepherd Boy.] 

either hills or mountains to go over ; but the way is the way, and 
there's an end. 

Now, as they were going along and talking, they espied a boy 
feeding his father's sheep. The boy was in very mean clothes, but 
of a fresh a well-favoured countenance, and as he sat by himself, 
he sung. Hark, said Mr. Great-heart, to what the shepherd's boy 
saith ! so they hearkened, and he said : — 



284 



He that is down needs fear no fall ; 

He that is low no pride ; 
He that is humble ever shall 

Have God to be his guide. 
I am content with what I have. 

Little be it or much ; 
And, Lord ! contentment still I crave^ 

Because thou eavest such. 



PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 285 

Fulness to such a burden is, 

That go on pilgrimage : 
Here httle, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age.* 

Then said their guide, Do you hear him ? I will dare to say, 
this- boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of that herb called 
Hearfs-ease in his bosom, than he that is clad in silk and velvet ! 
]3ut we will proceed in our discourse. 

In this Valley oui Lord formerly had his coun- _ 

, ^T ■' , - 111 111 Christ when m the 

try-house. He loved much to be here ; beloved flesh had his coun- 
also to walk these meadoAvs, for he found the air try-house in tho 
was pleasant. Besides, here a man shall be free "^.f^^^ ""^ ^^"™"^ 
from the noise and from the hurryings of this life. 
All states are full of noise and confusion ; only the Valley of Hu- 
miliation is that empty and solitary place. Here a man shall not 
be so let and hindered in his contemplation, as in other places he 
is apt to be. This is a Valley that nobody walks in, but those that 
love a Pilgrim's life. And though Christian had the hard hap to 
meet here with Apollyon, and to enter with him in a brisk encoun- 
ter, yet I must tell you, that in former times men have met with 
angels here ; have found pearls here ; and have in this place found 
the Words of Life.j 

Did 1 say, our Lord had here, in former days, his country-house, 
and that he loved here to walk ? I will add, in this place, and to 
the people that love and trace these grounds, he has left a yearly 
revenue, to be faithfully paid them at certain season , for their 
maintenance by the way, and for their further encoui igement to 
go on in their pilgrimage,:!: 

Now, as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great-heart, Sir, I 
perceive that in this Valley my father and Apollyon had their 
battle ; but whereabout was the fight ? for I perceive this Valley 
is large. 

Great-heart. Your father had the battle with Apollyon at a 
place yonder before us, in a narrow passage, iust 

i IT-, ^^7 A J • J 1 1 1 Forgetful-green. 

beyond For getjul- green. And mdeed that place 
is the most dangerous place in all these parts. For if at any time 
Pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they forget what favours 
they have received, and how unworthy they are of them. This is 
the place, also, where others have been hard put to it. But more 
of the place when we are come to it ; for I persuade myself, that to 
this day there remains either some sign of the battle, or some mon- 
ument to testify that such a battle was fough ^here. 

• Heb. xiii. 5. Phil. iv. 12, 13 t Hos. xii. 4. '^ t Yatfh. x. 29, 



286 pilgrim's progress. 

Then said Mercy, I think I am as well in this Valley as I have 

been any where else in all our journey. The' 

frri"^^ * ''^^'' place, methinks, suits with my spirit. I love to be 

in such places, where there is no rattling with 

coaches, nor rumbling with wheels. Methinks here one may, Avith- 

out much molestation, be thinking what he is, whence he came, 

what he has done, and to what the King has called him. Here 

one may think, and break at heart, and melt in one's spirit, until 

one's eyes become as the " fish pools of Heshbon."* They that 

go rightly through this valley of Baca make it a well ; the rain that 

God sends down from heaven upon them that are here, " also filleth 

the pools. "t This Valley is that from whence also the King will 

give to his their vineyards ',X and they that go through it shall sing, 

as Christian did, for all he met with Apollyon. 

'Tis true, said their guide, I have gone throus^h 
An experiment of It. , . _^ „ ' . " , ° , ,^ 

this Valley many a time, and never was better than 

when here. I have also been a conductor to several Pilgrims, and 
they have confessed the same. " To this man will I look, (saith 
the King,) even to him that is poor, and of a contrite spirit, and 
that tremhleth at my word?"* 

Now they were come to the place where the aforementioned 
The place where t)attle was fought. Then said the guide to Chris- 
Christian and the tiana, her children, and Mercy, This is the place ; 
fiend did fight. q^ ^j^js ground Christian stood, and up there came 
Apollyon against him. And look, did I not tell you ? here is some 
of your husband's blood upon these stones to this day. Behold, 
Some signs of the ^Iso, how here and there are yet to be seen, upon 
battle remain. the place, some of the shivers of Apollyon's broken 
darts ! See also how they did beat the ground with their feet as 
they fought, to make good their places against each other ! how 
also, with their by-blows, they did split the very stones in pieces ! 
Verily Christian did here play the man, and showed himself as 
stout as Hercules could, had he been here, even he himself. When 
Apollyon was beat, he made his retreat to the next valley, that is 
called the Valley of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall 
come anon. 

A monument of ^° ' yo^i^er also Stands a monument, on which 
Christian's vie- is engraven this battle, and Christian's victory, to 
^°^y- his fame throughout all ages. So, because it stood 

just on the way-side before them, they stepped to it, and reaii the 
writing, which, word for word, was this : — 



pilgrim's progress. 2S7 

Hard by here was a battle fought, 

Most strange, and yet most true ; 
Christian and Apollyon sought 

Each other to subdue. 
The Man so bravely play'd the Man, 

He made the fiend to fly ; 
Of which a monument I stand, 

The same to testily. 

When they had passed by this place, they came upon the borders 
of the Shadow of Death ; and this Valley was longer than the 
other ; a place also most strangely haunted with evil things, as 
many are able to testify ; but these women and children went the 
better through it, because they had day-light, and because Mr 
Great-heart was their conductor. 

When they were entered upon this Valley, they q • h -d 
thought that they heard a groaning as of dying 
men; a very great groaning. They thought also they did hear 
words of lamentation spoken, as of some in extreme torment. These 
things made the boys to quake; the women also looked pale and 
wan ; but their guide bid them be of good comfort. 

So they went on a little farther, and they thought The ground 
that they felt the ground begin to shake under them, shakes. 
as if some hollow place was there : they heard also a kind of a 
hissing as of serpents; but nothing as yet appeared. Then said 
the boys, Are we not yet at the end of this doleful place ? But 
the guide also bid them be of good courage, and look well to their 
feet, lest haply, said he, you be taken in some snare. 

Now James began to be sick; but I think the James sick with 
cause thereof was fear; so his mother gave him ^^^^'• 
some of that glass of spirits that had been given her at the Inter- 
preter's house, and three of the pills that Mr. Skill had prepared, 
and the boy began to revive. Thus they went on, till they came 

to about the middle of the valley; and then Chris- 

• iT./ri-iT 1 • 1 The fiend appears, 

tiana said, Methinks I see somethmg yonder upon 

the road before us, a thing of a shape such as I have not seen. 

Then said Joseph, Mother, what is it ? An ugly The Pilgrims are 

thing, child, an ugly thing, said she. But, mother, afraid, 

what is it like? said he. It is like I cannot tell what, said 

she; and now it is but a little way off. Then said she, it is 

nigh ! 

Well, well, said Mr. Great-heart, let them that Great-heart en- 

are most afraid keep close to me. So the Fiend courages them. 

came on, and the conductor met it ; but when it was just come to 

him, it vanished to all their sights. Then remembered they what 



g«8 pilgrim's PROGREfsS. 

nad been said some time ago, " Resist the devil, and he will Jlee 
from you.^^* 

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed ; but they had 
not gone far before Mercy, looking behmd her, saw, 
as she thought, something most like a Lion ; and 
It came a great padding pace after ; and it had a hollow voice of 
roaring; and, at every roar that it gave, it made all the Valley echo, 
and all their hearts to ache, save the heart of him that was their 
guide. So it came up, and Mr. Great-heart went behind, and put 
the Pilgrims all before him. The Lion also came on apace, and 
Mr. Great-heart addressed himself to give him battle ; t but when 
he saw that it was determined that resistance should be made, he 
also drew back, and came no farther. 

Then they went on agem, and their conductor did go before them, 
A pit and dark- till they came at a place where was cast up a pit the 
nsss. whole breadth of the way ; and before they could 

be prepared to go over that, a great mist and a darkness fell upon 
them, so that they could not see. Then said the Pilgrims, Alas! 
what now shall we do ? But their Guide made answer, Fear 
not ; stand still, and see what an end will be put to this also. 
So they stayed there, because their path was marred. They then 
also thought that they did hear more apparently the noise and 
rushing of the enemies ; the fire also, and smoke of the pit, was 
much easier to be discerned. Then said Christiana to Mercy, 
Christiana now Now I see what my poor husband went through ! 1 
knows what her have heard much of this place, but I never was 
husband felt. h.eTe afore now. Poor man ! he went here all alone 

in the night ', he had night almost quite through the way ; also 
these Fiends were busy about him, as if they would have torn him 
in pieces. Many have spoken of it j but none can tell what the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death should mean, until they come in 
it themselves. " The heart knows its own bitterness ; and a 
stranger inter meddleth not with its joy." To be here is a fearful 
thing. 

Great-heart. This is like doing business in great waters, or like 
going down into the deep ; this is like being in the heart of the sea, 
and like going down to the bottoms of the mountains. Now it 
seems as if the earth, with its bars, were about us for ever. But 
" let them that walk in darkness, and have no light, trust in the 
nam?, of the Lord, and stay upon their God."X For my part, as I 
have told you already, I have gone often through this valley, and 
have been much harder put to it than now I am ; and yet you see 

* James iv. 7. 1 1 Pet. v. 8. t Isaiah 1. 10. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 289 

I am alive. I would not boast, for that I am not my own Saviour ; 
but I trust we shall have a good deliverance. Come, let us pray 
for light to him that can lighten our darkness, and that can rebuke 
not only these, but all the Satans in Hell. 

So they cried and prayed ; and God sent light 
and deliverance, for there was now no let in their ^^^ ^^' 
way ; no, not there, where but now they were stopped with a Pit. 
Yet they were not got through the valley ; so they went on still, 
and behold, great stinks and loathsome smells, to the great annoy- 
ance of them. Then said Mercy to Christiana, There is not such 
pleasant being here, as at the Gate, or the Interpreter's, or at the 
House where we lay last. 

Oh I but, said one of the boys, it is not so bad to One of the boys 
go through here, as it is to abide here always ! and, ^^^P'y- 
' for aught I know, one reason why we mufsl go this way to the 
House prepared for us, is, that our home might be made the sweeter 
to us. 

Well said, Samuel, quoth the guide j thou hast now spoke like 
a man. Why, if ever I get out here again, said the boy, I think I 
shall prize light and good way better than ever I did in all my life. 
Then said the guide, we shall be out by-and-by. 

So on they went, and Joseph said, Cannot we see to the end of 
this valley as yet? Then said the guide, Look to your feet, for 
we shall presently be among the snares ! so they looked to their feet 
and went on ; but they were troubled inuch with the snares. Now, 
when they were come among the snares, they espied a man cast 
mto the ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all rent and torn. 
Then said the guide. That is one Heedless, that Heedless is slain, 
was going this way; he has lain there a great and Take-heed 
while. There was one Take-heed with him, when preserved. 
he was taken and slain ; but he escaped their hands. You cannot 
imagine how many are killed hereabouts ; and yet men are so fool- 
ishly venturous as to set out lightly on pilgrimage, and to come 
without a guide. Poor Christian! it was a wonder that he here 
escaped ; but he was beloved of his God: also he had a good heart 
of his own, or else he could never have done it. Now they drew 
towards the end of this way ; and just there where Christian had 
seen the Cave when he went by, out thence came forth Maul, a 
Giant. This Maul did use to spoil young Pilgrims with sophistry ; 
and he called Great-heart by his name, and said Maul, a giant, quar- 
unto him. How many times have you been forbid- reis with Great 
den to do these things? Then said Mr. Great- '^^^'^^• 
heart, Vfhat things ? — What things ? quoth the Giant; you ^now 
25 



290 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

what things ; but I will put an end to your trade ! But pray, said 
Mr. Great-heart, before we fall to it, let us understand wherefore 
we must fight ? (Now the women and children stood trembling, 
and knew not what to do.) €luoth the Giant, you rob the country, 
and rob it with the worst of thefts. These are but generals, said 
Mr. Great- heart ; come to particulars, man ! 
^ ,, ... Then said the Giant, Thou practisest the craft 

God's ministers ' ^ 

counted as kidnap- of a kidnapper ; thou gatherest up women and chil- 
pe^^s. dren, and carriest them into a strange country, to 

the weakening of my Master's Kingdom. But now Great-heart 
replied, I am a servant of the God of heaven ; my business is to 
persuade sinners to repentance. I am commanded to do my en- 
deavour to turn men, women, and children, from darkness to light, 
The Giant and Mr, ^^^ ^^°"^ ^^^ power of Satan unto God ; and if 
Great-heart must this be indeed the ground of thy quarrel, let us fall 
*'S^*- to it as soon as thou wilt. 

Then the Giant came up, and Mr. Great-heart went to meet 
him; and, as he went, he drew his sword; but the Giant had a 
club. So, without more ado, they fell to it; and, at the first blow, 
the Giant struck Mr. Great-heart down upon one of his knees ; 
Weak folks prayers "^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^'^°^^"- ^^^ children Cried out. So 
at sometimes help Mr. Great-heart recovering himself, laid about him 
strong folks cries. [^ f^n lugty manner, and gave the Giant a wound 
in his arm. Thus he fought for the space of an hour, to that height 
of heat, that the breath carne out of the Giant's nostrils as the heat 
doth out of a boiling caldron. - 

Then they sat down to rest them, but Mr. Great heart betook 
himself to prayer ; also the women and children did nothing but 
sigh and cry all the time that the battle did last. 

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they both fell to 

it again ; and Mr. Great-heart, with a blow, fetched 
down. ^^" ^ ^^^ ^^^ Giant down to the ground. Nay, hold, let me 

recover, quoth he. So Mr. Great-heart fairly let 

him get up: so to it they went again, and the Giant missed 

but little of all-to-breaking Mr. Great-heart's scull with his club. 

Mr. Great-heart seeing that, runs to him in the full heat of his 

spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib; with that the Giant 

began to faint, and could hold up his club no longer. 
Qead disposed of. Then Mr. Great-heart seconded his blow, and smit 

the head of the Giant from his shoulders. Then 
the women and children rejoiced ; and Mr. Great-heart also praised 
God for the deliverance he had wrought. 

When this was done, they amongst them erected a pillar, and 



pilgrim's progress. 291 

fastened the Giant's head thereon, and wrote under it, in letters 
that passengers might read : — 

He that did wear this head was one 

That Pilgrims did misuse ; 
He stopped their way, he cjpared none, 

But did them all abuse : 
•Until that I, Great-heart, arose. 

The Pilgrim's guide to be : 
Until that I did him oppose, 

That was their enemy. 

Now I saw that they went on to the ascent that was a little way 
off, cast up to be a prospect for Pilgrims ; (that was the place from 
whence Christian had the first sight of Faithful his brother.) 
Wherefore here they sat down and rested; they also here did eat, 
and drink and make merry, for that they had gotten deliverance 
from this so dangerous an enemy. As they sat thus, and did eat, 
Christiana asked the guide if he had caught no hurt in the battle ? 
Then said Mr. Great-heart, No, save a little on my flesh ; yet that 
also shall be so far from being to my detriment, that it is at present 
a proof of my love to my Master and you ; and shall be a means, 
by grace, to increase my reward at last. 

Chr. But was you not afraid, good sir, when you saw him come 
with his club ? 

It is my duty, said he, to mistrust my own abil- 
ity, that I may have reliance on him that is stronger g '^-^'J^^^^^ °^ *^^ 
than all. 

Chr. But what did you think when he fetched you down to the 
ground at the first blow ? 

Why, I thought, quoth he, that so my Master himself was 
served ; and yet He it was that conquered at last. 

Matth. When you all have thought what you Matthew here ad- 
please, I think God has been wonderful good unto mires God's good- 
as, both in bringing us out of this Valley, and in '^®^^' 
delivering us out of the hand of this enemy. For my part, I see 
no reason why we should distrust our God any more, since he has 
now, and in such a place as this, given us such testimony of his 
love. 

Then they got up, and went forward. Now, a little before them 
stood an oak, and under it, when they came to it, old Honest asleep 
they found an old Pilgrim fast asleep. They knew ""der an oak. 
that he was a Pilgrim by his clothes and his staff*, and his girdle. 

So the guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him; and the old gentle- 
man, as he lifted up his eyes, cried out. What is the matter ? Who 
are you ? and what is your business here ? 




[The Pilgrims overtaking Honest.] 

Great-heart. Come, man, be not so hot, here are none bui 
friends. 

One saint some- Yet the old man gets up, and stands upon his 
times takes anoth- guard, and will know of them what they are. Then 
er for his enemy, g^^^j ^-^^ gmd.e, My name is Great-heart ; I am the 
^.'guide of these Pilgrims that are going to the Celestial Country. 

Then said Mr. Honesty I cry you mercy ; I feared 

Gr^a^heart'lJ^diTe. ^^^t you had been of the company of those that 

some time ago did rob Little-faith of his money ; 

but, now I look better about me, I perceive you are honester people. 

Great-heart. Why, what would or could you have done, to have 
helped yourself, if indeed we had been of that company ? 

Hon. Done ! why I would have fought as long as breath had 
been in me ; and, had I so done, I am sure you could never have 
given me the worst on 't , for a Christian can never be overcome^ 
unless he shall yield of himself. 

Well said, father Honest, quoth the guide ; for by this I know 
that thou art a cock of the right kind, for thou hast said the truth. 

Hon. And by this also I know, that thou knowest what true 
pilgrimage is; for all others do think that we are the soonest over 
come of any. 



pilgrim's progress. 293 

Great-heart. Well, now we are so happily met, pray let me 
crave your name, and the name of the place you came from. 

Hon. My name I cannot, but I came from the 
town of Stupidity; it lieth about four degrees be- Z^l^Z^'' ^°''' 

,-'«'' _ " est came. 

yond the- City of Destruction. 

Great-heart. Oh ! are you that countryman ? Then I deem 1 
have half a guess of you ; your name is Old Honesty, is it not ? 
So the old gentleman blushed, and said, not Honesty in the ah- 
stract, but Honest is my name ; and I wish that my nature may 
agree to what I am called. 

But, sir, said the old gentleman, how could you guess that I am 
such a man, since I came from such a place ? 

Great-heart. I had heard of you before by my gt^pified ones are 
Master ; for he knows all things that are done on worse than those 
the earth. But I have often wondered that any "^^^^^^ <^^™^i- 
should come from your place, for your town is worse than is the 
City of Destruction itself. 

Hon. Yes, we lie more off from the sun, and so are more cold 
and senseless ; but was a man in a mountain of ice, yet, if the Sun 
of Righteousness will arise upon him, his frozen heart shall feel a 
thaw ; and thus it hath been with me. 

Great-heart. I believe it, father Honest, I believe it j for I know 
the thing is true. 

Then the old gentleman saluted all the Pilgrims with a holy kiss 
of charity, and asked them of their names, and how they had fared 
since they had set out on their pilgrimage. 

Then said Christiana, My name, I suppose, you 
have heard of; good Christian was my husband, ^?^. ^°"'f , ^"'^ 

' ^ ■' 1 . , Christiana talk. 

and these four are his children. But can you thmk 
how the old gentleman was taken, when she told him who she 
was ! He skipped, he smiled, he blessed them with a thousand 
good wishes, saying : — 

I have heard much of your husband, and of his travels and wars 
which he underwent in his days. Be it spoken to your comfort, 
the name of your husband rings all over these parts of the world ; 
his faith, his courage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all. 
have made his name famous. Then he turned him to the boys, 
and asked them of their names, which they told 
him; and then said he unto them, Matthew, be bi^fgsiJg (S°them! 
thou like Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in 
virtue.'*' Samuel, said he, be thou like Samuel the prophet, a man 
of faith and prayer.f Joseph, said he, be thou like Joseph in Poti- 

' Matth. X. 3. t Psalm xcix. 6. 

25* 



294 PlLGRIM^S PROGRESS. 

phar's house, chaste, and one 'that flies from temptation* And 
James, be thou like James the Just, and like James the brother of 
our Lord.f Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had left 
her town and her kindred to come along with Christiana, and with 
her sons. At that the old Honest man said, Mercy is thy name? 
„ , , ^,, by mercy shalt thou be sustained, and carried 
through all those difficulties that shall assault thee 
in thy way, till thou shalt come thither, where thou shalt look the 
Fountain of mercy in the face with comfort. 

All this while the guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very well pleased, 
and smiled upon his companions. 

Talk of one Mr. Now, as they Walked along together, the guide 
Fearing. asked the old gentleman, if he did not know one 

Mr. Fearing^ that came on pilgrimage out of his parts ? 

Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the root of the 
matter in him; but he was one of the most troublesome Pilgrims - 
that ever I met with in all my days. 

Great-heart. I perceive you knew him ; for you have given a 
very right character of him. 

Hon. Knew him ! I was a great companion of his ; I was with 
him most an end ; when he first began to think upon what would 
come upon us hereafter, I was with him. 

Great-heart. I was his guide from my Master's house to the 
gates of the Celestial City. 

Hon. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one. 

Great-heart. I did so, but I could very well bear it ; for men of 
my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the conduct of such as he 
was. 

Hon. Why, then, pray let us hear a little of him, and how he 
managed himself under your conduct. 

Mr.Feanng'strou- Great-heart. Why, he was afraid that he should 
biesome pilgrim- come short of whither he had a desire to go. Ev- 
^^- ery thing frightened him that he heard any body 

speak of, if it had but the least appearance of opposition in it. I 
His behaviour at ^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^Y roaring at the slough of Despond 
the slough of Des- for above a month together ; nor durst he, for all he 
P°"^- saw several go over before him, venture, though 

they, many of them, offered to lend him their hands. He would 
not go hack again neither. The Celestial City, he said, he should 
die if he came not to it ; and yet he was dejected at every difficulty, 
and stumbled at every straw that any body cast in his way. Well, 
ifter he had lain at the slough of Despond a great while, as I have 

• ^en. xxxix. t Acts i. 13j 14. 



pilgrim's progress. 296 

told you, one sunshine morning, I don't know how, he ventured, 
and so got overj but when he was over, he would scarce believe 
it. He had, I think, a slough of despond in his mind ; a slough 
that he carried every v-^here with him, or else he could never have 
been as he was. So he came up to the Gate, (you know what I 
mean,) that stands at the head of this Way, and there also he stood 
a great Avhile before he would venture to knock. 
When the Gate was opened, he would give back ^^ GaS^""'""'' ^* 
and give place to others, and say that he was not 
worthy : for, for all he got before some to the Gate, yet many of 
them went in before him. There the poor man would stand sha- 
king and shrinking ; I dare say it would have pitied one's heart to 
have seen him ; nor would he go hack again. At last he took 
the hammer that hanged on the Gate in his hand, and gave a small 
rap or two ; then one opened to him, but he shrunk back as before. 
He that opened stepped out after him, and said, Thou trembling 
one, what wantest thou ? With that he fell down to the ground. 
He that spoke to him wondered to see him so faint. So he said to 
him, " Peace he to thee ; up, for I have set open the door to thee ; 
come in, for thou art blessed." With that he got up, and went in 
trembling ; and when that he was in, he was ashamed to show his 
face. Well, after he had been entertained there a while, as you 
know how the manner is, he was bid go on his way, and also told 
the way he should take. So he went on till he came to our house; 
but as he behaved himself at tha Gate, so he did at my Master, the 
Interpreter's door. He lay thereabout in the cold jjj^ behaviour at 
a good while, before he would adventure to call ; the interpreter's 
yet he would not go hack ; and the nights were ^°°^- 
long and cold then. Nay, he had a note of necessity in his bosom 
to my Master to receive him, and grant him the comfort of" his 
house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant conductor, because 
he was himself so chicken-hearted a man; and yet, for all that, he 
was afraid to call at the door. So he lay up and down thereabouts, 
till, poor man, he was almost starved; yea, so great was his dejec- 
tion, that though he saw several others, for knocking, get in, yet 
he was afraid to venture. At last, I think, I looked out of the 
window ; and, perceiving a man to be up and down about the door, 
I went out to him, and asked what he was? But, poor man, the 
water stood in his eyes ; so I perceived what he wanted. I went 
therefore in, and told it in the house, and we showed the thing to 
our Lord ; so he sent me out again to entreat him 
to come in, but I dare say I had hard work to do it. J^- J^^ th'Ire ^"^^"^ 
At last he came in, and I vv^ill say that for my 



596 _ PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

Lord, he carried it wonderful lovingly to him. There were but a 
few good bits at the table, but some of it was laid upon his trencher. 
Then he presented the note^ and my Lord, looked thereon, and said 
his desire should be granted. So, when he had been there a good 
He is a little en- while, he seemed to get some heart, and to be a 
couragedatthein- little more comfortable ; for my Master, you must 
terpreter's house, ^now, is One of very tender bowels, especially to 
them that are afraid ; wherefore he carried it so towards him as 
might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when he had had a 
sight of the things of the place, and was ready to take his journey 
to go to the city, my Lord, as he did to Christian before, gave him 
a bottle of spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we 
set forward, and I went before him, but the man was but of few 
words, only he would sigh aloud. 

When we were come to where the three fellows 
fraidwhfn^he saw "^^^^ hanged, he said, That he doubted that that 
the gibbet, but would be his end also. Only he seemed glad when 
cheery when he j^g saw the Cross and the Sepulchre. There, I 
confess, he desired to stay a little to look ; and he 
seemed, for a while after, to be a little cheery. When he came to 
the hill Difficulty, he made no stick at that, nor did he much fear 
the Lions ; for you must know that Ms trouble was not about such 
things as these ; his fear was about his acceptance at last. 

I got him in at the house Beautiful, I think, before he was wil- 
ling ; also, when he was in, I brought him acquainted with the 
damsels of the place ; but he was ashamed to make himself much 
in company. He desired much to be alone ; yet 
Dumpish at the j^^ always loved good talk, and often would get be- 

house Beautiful. . 

hind the screen to hear it ; .he also loved much to 
see ancient things, and to be pondering them in his mind. He 
told me afterward that he loved to be in those two houses from 
which he came last, to wit, at the Gate and that of the Interpreter, 
but that he durst not be so bold as to ask. 

When we went also from the house Beautiful 
reyrHummatln: ^^"^^ ^hc hill into the Valley of Humiliation, he 

went down as well as ever I saw a man in my life j 
for he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last ; 
yea, I thmk there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that Valley and 
him, for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than he was 
in that Valley. 

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very 
[lowers that gxe.w in this Valley.* He would now be up every 

* Lam. iii. 27-^ 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 297 

morning by break of day, tracing and walking to and fro in the 
Valley. 

But when he was come to the entrance of the Much perplexed in 
Valley of the Shadow of Death, I thought I should the Vaiiey of the 
have lost my man ; not for that he had any inclina- Shadow of Death. 
tion to go back, that he always abhorred : but he was ready to die 
for fear. Oh ! the hobgoblins will have me, the hobgoblins will 
have me, cried he j and I could not beat him out on't. He 
made such a noise, and such an outcry here, that, had they but 
heard him, it was enough to encourage them to come and fall 
upon us. 

But this I took very great notice of, that this Valley was as quiet, 
when we went through it, as ever I knew it before or since. I 
suppose those enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, 
and a command not to meddle, until Mr. Fearing had passed 
over it. 

It would be too tedious to tell you of all ; we will therefore only 
mention a passage or two more. When he was 
come to Vanity-fair, I thought he would have fought vanity^fatr '^"^ 
with all the men in the Fair ; I feared there we 
should have been both knocked on the head, so hot was he againsi 
their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was very wakeful. 
But when he was come at the river, where was no bridge, there 
again he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be 
drowned for ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he 
had come so many miles to behold. 

And here also I took notice of what was very remarkable : the 
water of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all 
my life ; so he went over at last, not much above wet-shod. When 
he was going up to the Gate, Mr. Great-heart be- „. , , , ,, , 
gan to take his leave oi him, and to wish him a good 
reception above ; so he said, / shall, I shall. Then parted we 
asunder, and I saw him no more. 

Hon. Then it seems he was well at last. 

Great-heart. Yes, yes, I never had doubt about him. He was 
a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low, and 
that made his life so burdensome to himself, and so troublesome 
to others.* He was, above many, tender of sinj he was so afraid 
of doing injuries to others, that he often would deny himself of that 
which was lawful, because he would not oflend.t 

Hon. But what should be the reason that such a good man should 
be all his days so much in the dark? 

• Psahr. Ixxxviik t Rom. xiv. 21. 1 Cor. viii. 13. 



298 PILGRIM'3 PROGRESS. 

Reasons why good Great-heart. There are two sorts of reasons for 
men are so much it : One IS, the wise God will have it so ; some must 
in the dark. pipe, and some must weep.* Now, Mr. Fearing 

was one tnat played upon the base; he and his fellows sound the 
sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other music 
are; though, indeed, some say the base is the ground of music; 
and, for my part, I care not at all for that profession that begins 
not in heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician 
usually touches is the base, when he intends to put all in tune : 
God also plays upon this string first, when he sets the soul in tune 
for himself. Only there was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing, he 
could play upon no other music but this, till towards his latter end. 

(I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, for the ripening of the 
wits of young readers, and because, in the book of the Revelation, 
the saved are compared to a company of musicians, that play upon 
their trumpets and harps, and sing their songs before the throne. )t 

Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by what rela- 
tion you have given of him. Difficulties, Lions, or Vanity- fair, he 
feared not at all ; 'twas only Sin, Death, and Hell, that were to 
him a terror, because he had some doubts about his interest in that 
Celestial Country. 

, _. Great-heart. You say right; those were the 

A. close about him. , . , , . -, -, ^ ^ i 

thmgs that were his troubles ; and they, as you have 
well observed, arose from the weakness of his mind thereabout, 
not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a Pilgrim's 
life. I dare believe, that, as the proverb is, " He could have bit a 
firebrand, had it stood in his way." But the things with which 
ne was oppressed, no man ever yet could shake off with ease. 
Christiana's sen- Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fear- 
tence. jng has done me good: I thought nobody had been 

like me; but I see there was some semblance betwixt this good 
Man and me ; only we differed in two things. His troubles were 
so great that they broke out, but mine I kept within. His also lay 
so hard upon him, they made him that he could not knock at the 
Houses provided for entertainment ; but my trouble was always 
such as made me knock the louder. 

, Mercy. If I might also speak my heart, I must 

say that something of him has also dwelt in me. 
For I have ever been more afraid of the Lake, and the loss of a 
place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other things. 
Oh ! thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habitation there, 
'tis enough though I part with all the world to win it ! 

* Matth. xi. 16, 18. t Rev. viii. 1.— xiv. 2, 3. 



pilgrim's progress. 299 

Then said Matthew, fear was one thing that made Matthew's sex^^ 
me think that I was far from having that within me tence. 
that accompanies salvation ; but, if it was so with such a good 
Man as he, why may it not also go well with me ? 

No fears, no grace, said James. Though there , 

is not always grace where there is the fear of hell, 
yet to be sure, there is no grace where there is no fear of God. 

Great-heart. Well said, James, thou hast hit the mark ; for the 
fear of God is the begmning of wisdom ; and, to be sure, they that 
want the beginning, have neither middle nor end. But we will 
here conclude our discourse of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent afte' 
him this farewell: — 

Well Master Fearing, thou didst fear 

Thy God, and wast afraid 
Of doing any thing, while here, 

That would have thee betrayed. Their farewell 

And didst thou fear the Lake and Pit 1 about him. 

Would others do so too ! 
For as for them that want thy wit, 

They do themselves undo. 

Now I saw that they still went on in their talk. For, after Mr. 
Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, Mr. Honest began 
to tell them of another, but his name was Mr. Self- ^. ., „ , . .„ 

•77 TT Til- 1^ 1 -r.-! • ■ 1 Of Mr. Self-will. 

will. He pretended himself to be a Pilgrim, said 

Mr. Honest ; but I persuade myself he never came in at the Gate 

that stands at the head of the way. 

Great-heart. Had you ever any talk with him about it? 

Hon. Yes, more than once or twice ; but he old Honest had 
would always be like himself, self-willed. He talked with him. 
neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet example ; what his 
mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could 
he be got to do. 

Great-heart. Pray what principles did he hold 7 for T suppose 

you can tell. 

Hon. He held that a man might follow the vices „ ,^ .„, . , 

-,,„.,. ,1 .p Self- will's opmion. 

as well as the virtues oi the Pilgrims ; and that, if 

fee did both, he should be certainly saved. 

Great-heart. Plow ! If he had said. It is possible for the best to 

be guilty of the vices, as well as partake of the virtues of Pilgrims, 

he could not much have been blamed ; for indeed we are exempted 

from no vice absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. 

But this, I perceive, is not the thing ; but, if I understand you 

right, your meaning is, that he was of opinion that it was allowable 

so to be? 



300 pilgrim's progress. 

Hon. Ay, ay, so I mean ; and so he believed and practised. 

Great-heart. But what grounds had he for his so saying 7 

Hon. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his warrant. 

Great-heart. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few par- 
ticulars. 

Hon. So I will. He said, to have to do Avith other men's wives 
had been practised by David, God's beloved ; and therefore he 
could do it. He said, to have more women than one was a thing 
that Solomon practised, and therefore he could do it. He said 
that Sarah and the godly midwives of Egypt lied, and so did saved 
Rahab 5 and therefore he could do it. He said, that the disciples 
went, at the bidding of their Master, and took away the owner's 
ass ; and therefore he could do so too. He said, that Jacob got the 
inheritance of his father in a way of guile and dissimulation ; and 
therefore he could do so too. 

Great-heart. High base, indeed ! And you are sure he was of 
this opinion ? 

Hon. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for it, bring 
arguments for it, &c. 

Great-heart. An opinion that is not fit to be, with any allowance, 
in the world ! 

Hon. You must understand me rightly : he did not say that any 
man might do this ; but that those who had the virtues of those 
that did such things, might also do the same. 

Great-heart. But what more false than such a conclusion ? for 
this as much as to say, that because good men heretofore have 
sinned of infirmity, therefore he had allowance to do it of a pre- 
sumptuous mind ; or if, because a child, by the blast of the wind, 
or for that it stumbleth at a stone, fell down and defiled itself in 
the mire, therefore he might wilfully lie down, and wallow like a 
boar therein. Who could have thought that any one could so far 
have been blinded by the power of lust ? But what is written must 
be true: ^'•They stumble at the word, being disobedient, where- 
unto they also were appointed.^^* 

His supposing that such may have the godly men's virtues, who 
addict themselves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the 
other. 'T is just as if the dog should say, I have or may have the 
qualities of the child, because I lick up its stinking excrements. 
To eat up the sin of God's people,t is no sign of one that is pos- 
sessed with their virtues. Nor can I believe that one that is of 
this ODinion can at present have faith or love in him. But I know 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ' 301 

you have made some strong objections against him ; pr'ythee, what 
can he say for himself? 

Hon. Why, he says, to do this by way of opinion seems abun- 
dantly more honest than to do it, and yet hold contrary to it in 
opinion. 

Great-heart. A very wicked answer ; for though to let loose the 
bridle of lusts, while our opinions are against such things, is bad ; 
yet to sin, and plead a toleration so to do, is worse ; the one stum- 
bles beholders accidentally, the other leads them into the snare. 

Hon. There are many of this man's mind, that have not this 
man's mouth; and that makes going on pilgrimage of so little 
esteem as it is. 

Grsat-Ueart. You have said the truth, and it is to be lamented ; 
but he that feareth the King of Paradise shall come out of them all. 

Chr. There are strange opinions in the world. I know one that 
said, it was time enough to repent when we come to die. 

Great-heart. Such are not over-wise ! That man would have 
been loath, might he have had a week to run twenty miles in his 
life, to have deferred that journey till the last hour of that week. 

Hon. You say right ; and yet the generality of them that count 
themselves Pilgrims, do indeed do thus. I am, as you see, an old 
man, and have been a traveller in this road many a day, and I have 
taken notice of many things. 

I have seen some that have set out as if they would drive all the 
world afore them, who yet have, in few days, died as they in the 
wilderness, and so never got sight of the Promised Land. I have 
seen some that have promised nothing at first setting out to be 
Pilgrims, and that one would have thought could not have lived a 
day, that have yet proved very good Pilgrims. I have seen some 
who have run hastily forward, that again have, after a little time, 
run as fast just back again, I have seen some who have spoken 
very well of a Pilgrim's life at first, that after awhile have spoken 
as much against it. I have heard some, when tney first set out for 
Paradise, say positively there is such a place, who, when they had 
been almost there, have come back again, and said there is none. 
I have heard some vaunt what they would do in case they should 
be opposed, that have, even at a false alarm, fled Faith, the Pil- 
grim's Way, and all. 

Now, as they were thus on their way, there came 

, ^-L J ' 2 r^ ^^ Fresh news of 

one running to meet them, and said. Gentlemen, trouble. 

and you of the weaker sort, if you love life, shift 

for yourselves, for the robbers are before you. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart, thev be the three that set upon Little- 

26 



302 pilgrim's progress. 

faith heretofore. Well, said he, we are ready toi 
oimfon^^^'^'^ '■^^" them; so they went on their way. Now, they 

looked at every turning when they should have met 
with the villains ; but whether they heard of Mr. Great-heart, or 
whether they had some other game, they came not up to the Pil- 
grims. 

Christiana then wished for an inn to refresh 
for^n'hm ^^ ^^ herself and her children, because they were weary. 

Then said Mr. Honest, There is one a little before 
us, where a very honourable disciple, one Gaius, dwells.* So they 
all concluded to turn on thither, and the rather because the old 
gentleman gave him so good a report. So when they came to the 
door, they went in, not knocking; for folks use not to knock at the 
door of an inn. Then they called for the Master of the House, 
and he came to them; so they asked if they might lie there that 
night? 

Gains. Yes, gentlemen, if you be true men ; for 
ttm%nd"how."' m^onse is for none but Pilgrims. Then was 

Christiana and Mercy, and the boys, the more glad, 
for that the innkeeper was a lover of Pilgrims. So they called for 
rooms ; and he showed them one for Christiana, and her children, 
and Mercy ; and another for Mr. Great-heart and the old gentleman. 
Then said Mr. Great-heart, Good Gains, what hast thou 
for supper ? for these Pilgrims have come far to-day, and are 
weary. 

It is late, said Gaius, so we cannot conveniently go out to seek 
food ; but sucii as we have you shall be welcome to, if that will 
content. 

Great-heart. We will be content with what thou hast in the 
house ; forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou art never destitute 
of that which is convenient. 

„ , , , Then he went down, and spake to the cook, 

Gams' cook, , m ^ .t ^ ^- ■, . , 

whose name was J aste-that-which-is-good, to get 
ready supper for so many Pilgrims. This done, he comes up again. 
Baying, Come, my good friends, you are welcome to me, and I am 
glad that I have a house to entertain you; and, while supper is 
making ready, if you please, let us entertain one another with some 
good discom'se ; so they all said. Content. 

Talk between Gaius Then said Gaius, Whose wife is this aged ma- 
andhis guests. ^j-on, whose daughter is this young damsel ? 

Great-heart. This woman is the wife of one Christian, a Pil- 
grim of former times ; and these are his four children. The maid 



pilgrim's progress. 303 

is one of her acquaintance, one that she hath persuaded to come 

with her on pilgrimage. The boys take all after 

their father, and covet to tread in his steps ; yea, 

if they do hut see any place where the old Pilgrim hath lain, or any 

print of his foot, it ministereth joy to theii- hearts, and they covet 

to lie or tread in the same. 

Then said Gaius, Is this Christian's wife, and are these Chris- 
tian's children ? I knew your husband's father ; 
yea, also his father's father. Many have been good eistofs"'^'^'' ^"" 
of this stock : their ancestors dwelt first at Antioch.* 
Christian's progenitors (I suppose you have heard your husband 
talk of them) were very worthy men. They have, above any that 
I know, showed themselves men of great virtue and courage for 
the Lord of the Pilgrims, his ways, and them that loved him. I 
have heard of many of your husband's relations that have stood all 
trials for the sake of the truth. Stephen, that was one of the first 
of the family from whence your husband sprang, was knocked on 
the head with stones.f James, another of this generation, was 
slain with the edge of the sword. To say nothing of Paul and 
Peter, men anciently of the family from whence your husband 
came, there was Ignatius, who was cast to the lions ; Romanus, 
whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones ; and Polycarp, that 
played the man in the fire ; there was he that was hanged up in a 
basket in the sun for the wasps to eat ; and he whom they put into 
a sack, and cast into the sea to be drowned. 'T would be impos- 
sible utterly to count up all of that family that have suffered inju- 
ries and death for the love of a Pilgrim's life. Nor can I but be 
glad to see that thy husband has left behind him four such boys as 
these. I hope they will bear up their father's name, and tread in 
their father's steps, and come to their father's end. 

Great-heart. Indeed, sir, they are likely lads; they seem to 
choose heartily their father's ways. 

Gaius. That is it that I said ; wherefore Christian's family is 
like still to spread abroad upon the face of the ground, and yet to 
be numerous upon the face of the earth. Where- 
fore let Christiana look out some damsels for her ana about her boys.' 
sons, to whom they may be betrothed, &c., that 
the name of their father, and the house of his progenitors, may 
never be forgotten in the world. 

Hon. 'Tis pity this family should fall and be extinct. 

Gaius. Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may ; but let Chris- 
tiana take my advice, and that's the way to uphold it. 

* Acts xi. 26. t Acts vii. 59, 60.— xii. 2. 



304 pilgrim's progress. 

And, Christiana, said this Innkeeper, I am glad to see thee and 
thy friend Mercy together here, a lovely couple ; and, may I advise, 
take Mercy into a nearer relation to thee. If she will, let her be 
A match between g^^^n to Matthew, thy eldest son; 'tis the way to 
' Mercy and Mat- preserve ye a posterity on the earth. So this match 
thew, ^as concluded, and in process of time they were 

married ; but more of that hereafter. 

Gains also proceeded, and said, I will now speak on the behalf 
of women, to take away their reproach ; for as death and the curse 
came into the world by a woman,* so also did life and health. 
„„ , ,, "God sent forth his Son, made of a woman."! 

Why women 01 old ' ' 

so much desired Yea, to show how much those that came after did 
children. abhor the act of their mother, this sex, in the Old 

Testament, coveted children, if happily this or that woman might 
be the mother of the Saviour of the world. 

I will say again, that when the Saviour was come, women 
rejoiced in him before either man or angel.:]: I read not, that ever 
any man did give unto Christ so much as one groat ; but the women 
followed him, and ministered to him of their substance. 'T was a 
woman that washed his feet with tears, and a woman that anointed 
his body to the burial. They were women that wept when he was 
going to the Cross, and women that followed him from the Cross, 
and that sat by his sepulchre when he was buried ; they were 
women that were first with him at his resurrection-morn, and wo- 
men that brought tidings first to his disciples that he was risen 
from the dead. Women, therefore, are highly favoured, and show, 
by these things, that they are sharers with us in the grace of life. 

Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was 

Supper ready. , ^ ^ , , , -, -, , 

almost ready, and sent one to lay the cloth and the 
trenchers, and to set the salt and bread in order. 

Then said Matthew, The sight of this cloth, and of this fore- 
runner of the supper, begetteth in me a greater appetite to my food 
than I had before. 

Gains. So let all ministering doctrines to thee in this life beget 

in thee a greater desire to sit at the supper of the Great King in 

his Kingdom : for all preaching, books, and ordi- 

Whatto be gather- f ■, , .x, ^ • p .1 ' ■. 

3d from laying of i^^nces here, are but as the laymg of the trenchers. 

the bread with the and as settmg of salt upon the board, when com- 

cioth and trench- pared with the feast that our Lord will make for us 

when we come to his house. 

So supper came up ; and first a heave-shoulder and a wave- 

* Gen. iii. t Gal. iv. 4. J Luke ii.— vii. 37, 50.— viii, 2. 3. John xi. 2.— ii. 3. 
Luke xxiii. 27. Matth. xxvii. 55, 56. 60. Luke xxiv. 22, 23 



pilgrim's progress. 305 

breast were set on the table before them, to show that they must 
begin their meal with prayer and praise to God. The heave-shoul- 
der David lifted up his heart to God with ; and with the wave- 
breast, where his heart lay, Avith that he used to lean upon his heart 
when he played. These two dishes were very fresh and good, and 
they all ate heartily thereof.* 

The next they brought up was a bottle of wine as red as blood ;t 
so Gaius said to them. Drink freely ; this is the tme juice of the 
vine, that makes glad the heart of God and man. So they drank 
and were merry. 

The next was a dish of milk well crumbed ; but 
Gaius said, Let the hoys have that, that they may 
grow thereby.X 

Then they brought up in course a dish of butter 
and honey. Then said Gaius, Eat freely of this, Of l^^^ey and but- 
for this is good to cheer up and strengthen your 
judgments and understandings. This was our Lord's dish when 
he was a child : " Butter and honey shall he eat, that he may 
know hoiD to refuse the evil, and choose the good.^^ 

Then they brought them up a dish of apples, and .-,.. ^ 
they Avere very good tasted fruit. Then said Mat- 
thew, May we eat apples, since they were such, by and with which, 
the serpent beguiled our first mother ? 

Then said Gaius : — 

Apples were they with which we were beguiled; 
Yet Sin, not apples, hath our souls defiled. 
Apples forbid, if eat, corrupt the blood: 
To eat such, when commanded, does us good. 
Drink of his flagons then, thou Church! his dove ; 
And eat his apples, who art sick of love. 

Then said Matthew, I made the scruple, because I, a while smce, 
was sick with eating of fruit. 

Gaius. Forbidden fruit will make you sick, but, not what our 
Lord has tolerated. 

While they were thus talking, they were pre- . ^. ,, . , 

• 1 1 T 1 1- T 1 n ir A dish of nuts, 

sented with another dish, and it was a dish of nuts.]! 

Then said some at the table. Nuts spoil tender teeth, specially the 

teeth of children : which when Gaius heard, he said : — 

Hard texts are nuts, (I will not call them cheaters,) 
Wliose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters. 
Open then the sheUs, and you shall have the meat ; 
They here are brought for yoa to crack and eat. 

* Lev. vii. 32-34.— x. 14, 15. Psalm. xxv. 1. Heb. xiii. 15. t John xv. 5. 
1 1 Pet. ii. 1, 2. § Isaiah vii 15. I Song vi. 11. 

26*^ 



306 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

Then they were very merry, and sat at the table a long time, 
talking of many things. Then said the old gentleman, My good 
landlord, while we are cracking your nuts, if you please, do you 
open this riddle : — 

A riddle put forth A man there was, though some did count him mad, 
by old Honest. The more he cast away, the more he had. 

Then they all gave' good heed, wondering what good Gains 
would say : so he sat still a while, and then thus replied : — 



Gaius opens it. 



He who thus bestows his goods upon the poor, 
Shall have as much again, and ten times more. 



Then said Joseph, I dare say, sir, I did not think 
Joseph wonders. ,, , c \ • ^ 

you could have lound it out. 

O I said Gaius, I have been trained up in this way a great while. 
Nothing teaches like experience. I have learned of my Lord to 
be kind, and have found by experience that I have gained thereby. 
" There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth ; and there is that 
withholdeth more than is meet^ hut it tendeth to 'poverty. There 
is that maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing : there is that 
maketh himself poor^ yet hath great riches."* 

Then Samuel whispered to Christiana his mother, and said, 
Mother, this is a very good man's house ; let us stay here a good 
while, and let my brother Matthew be married here to Mercy, be- 
fore we go any further. 

The which, Gaius, the host, overhearing, said, With a very 
good will, my child. 

Matthew and Mer- ^o they stayed there more than a month, and 
cy are married. Mercy was given to Matthew to wife. 

While they stayed here, Mercy, as her custom was, would be 
making coats and garments to give to the poor, by which she 
brought a very good report upon Pilgrims. 

But to return again to our story. After supper, 
Se^est si^up. ^^' ^^^ ^^^^ desired a bed for they were weary with 
travelling. Then Gaius called to show them lo 
their chamber ; but, said Mercy, I will have them to bed. So she 
had them to bed, and they slept well ; but the rest sat up all night ; 
for Gaius and they were such suitable company, that they could 
not tell how to part. Then after much talk of their Lordj them- 
^,,„ ^ selves, and their journey, old Mr. Honest, he that 

Old Honest nods. n i ■, -Tm ^ • i ■. m, 

put forth the riddle to Gams, began to nod. Then 
said Great-heart, Why, sir, you begin to be drowsy : come rub up 

• Prov. xi. 24.— xiii. 7. 



pilgrim's progress. 307 

now ; here is a riddle for you. Tlien said Mr. Honest, Let us 
hear it. 

Then said Mr. Great-heart : — 

He that would kill, must first be overcome A ridrflp 

Who live abroad wouldj first must die at home. 

Ha ! said Mr. Honest, it is a hard one ; hard to expound, and 
harder to practice. But come, landlord, said he, I will, if you 
please, leave my part to- you ; do you expound it, and I will hear 
what you say. 

No, said Gains ; 't was put to you, and 't is expected you should 
answer it. 

Then said the old gentleman : — 

He first by grace must conquered be, 

That sin would mortify : 
Who, that he lives, would convince me, ^^^ "^^^^ «P^"^^ 

Unto himself must die, 

It is right, said Gains ; good doctrine and experience teach this : 
For, Jirstj until grace displays itself, and overcomes the soul with 
its glory, it is altogether without heart to oppose sin. Besides, if 
sin is Satan's cords, by which the soul lies bound, how should it 
make resistance, before it is loosed from that infirmity ? 

Secondly. Nor will any that knows either reason or grace believe 
that such a man can be a living monument of grace, that is a slave 
to his own corruptions. 

And now it comes to my mind, I will tell you a story worth the 
hearing: There were two men that went on Pil- 
grimage ; the one began when he was young, the tte"mindhi^ ^°^'^ 
other when he was old. The young man had 
strong corruptions to grapple with, the old man's were weak with 
the decays of nature : the young man trod his steps as even as did 
the old one, and was every way as light as he. Who, now, or 
which of them, had their graces shining clearest, since both seemed 
to be alike ? 

Hon, The voung man's doubtless; for that which 

, _ . : 1 .... A comparison 

heads it against the greatest opposition gives best 
demonstration that it is strongest ; specially when it also holdeth 
pace with that which meets not with half so much ; as, to be sure, 
old age does not. 

Besides, I have observed that old men have 
blessed themselves with this mistake; namely, 
taking the decays of nature for a gracious conquest over corrup- 
tions, and so have been apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, old 



308 pilgrim's progresjs. 

men that are gracious are best able to give advice to them that are 
young, because they have seen most of the emptiness of things j 
but yet, for an old man and a young to set out both together, the 
young one has the advantage of the fairest discovery of a work of 
grace within him, though the old man's corruptions are naturally 
the weakest. 

Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now, when the family 
was up, Christiana bid her son James that he should read a chap- 
ter ; so he read the 53d of Isaiah. When he had 

Another question. .'____ , , _,^, . • i i i 

done, Mr. Honest asked, Why it was said that the 
Saviour is said to " come out of a dry ground .^" and also, that 
" he had no form nor comeliness in him?^^ 

Then said Mr. Great-heart, To the frst I answer, Because the 
church of the Jews, of which Christ came, had then almost lost all 
the sap and spirit of religion. To the second I say, The words are 
spoken in the person of Unbelievers, who, because they want the 
eye that can see into our Prince's heart, therefore they judge of 
him by the meanness of his outside. Just like those that know 
not that precious stones are covered over with a homely crust: 
who, when they have found one, because they know not what they 
have found, cast it away again, as men do a common stone. 

Well, said Gains, now you are here, and since, as I know, Mr. 
Great-heart is good at his weapons, if you please, after we have 
refreshed ourselves, we will walk into the fields to see if we can do 
any good. About a mile from hence, there is one Slay-good^ a 
giant, that doth much annoy the King's highway in these parts ; 
and I know whereabout his haunt is ; he is master of a number of 
thieves. 'T Avould be well if we could clear these parts of him. 

So they consented and went 5 Mr. Great-heart with his sword, 
helmet, and shield, and the rest with spears and staves. 
_. , ^, ^ When they came to the place where he was, 

Oiant Slay-good , „ ^ , y . , n i -, . 7 • i • i , 

found with one they found him with one / eeoLe-mind m bis hand. 
Feeble-mind in his whom his servants had brought unto him, having 
^^^^' taken him in the way. Now the Giant was rifling 

him, with a purpose, after that, to pick his bones j for he was of the 
nature of flesh-eaters. 

Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends at the 
mouth of his cave with their weapons, he demanded what they 
wanted ? 

Great-heart. We want thee ; for we are come to revenge the 
quarrels of the many that thou hast slain of the Pilgrims, when 
thou hast dragged them out of the King's highway; wherefore come 
out of thy cave ! So he armed himself, and came out \ and to a 




[Great heart daring Giant Sla} good to conitaet ] 

battle they Avent, and fought for above an hour, and then stood still 
'to take wind. 

Then said the Giant, Why are you here on my ground? 

Great-heart. To revenge the blood of Pilgrims, as I told thee 
before. 

So they went to it agam, and the Giant made Mr. Great-heart 
give back ; but he came up again, and, in the greatness of his 
mind, he let fly with such stoutness at the Giant's The Giant assault- 
head and sides, that he made him let his weapon ed and slain. 
fall out of his hand ; so he smote him, and slew him, and cut off 
his head, and brought it away to the inn. He also took Feeble- 
mind, the Pilgrim, and brought him with him to his lodgings. 
When they were come home, they showed his head to the family, 
and set it up, as they had done others before, for a terror to those 
that shall attempt to do as he, hereafter. 

Then they asked Mr. Feeble-mind, how he fell into his hands 1 

Then said the poor man, I am a sickly man, as you see ; and 
because Death did usually once a day knock at my door, I thought 
I should never be well at home ; so I betook myself to a Pilgrim's 
life, and have travelled hither from the town of jj^^ Feeble-mind 
Uncertain, where I and my father were born. I came to be a Pii- 
am a man of no strength at all of body, nor yet of s^'^™- 
mind ; but would, if I could, though I can but crawl, spend ,my 
309 



310 pilgrim's progress. 

life in the Pilgrim's Avay. When I came at the Gate that is at the 
head of the way, the Lord of that place did entertain me freely, 
neither objected he against my weakly looks, nor against Tciy feeble 
mind, but gave me such things as were necessary for my journey, 
and bid me hope to the end. When I came to the house of the 
Interpreter, I received much kindness there ; and because the hill 
of Difficulty was judged too hard for me, I was carried up that by 
one of his servants. Indeed, I have found much relief from Pil- 
grims, though none was willing to go so softly as I am forced to 
do ; yet still, as they came on, they bid me be of good cheer, and 
said, that it was the will of their Lord that comfort should be given 
to the feeble-minded ; and so went on their own pace.* When I 
was come to Assault-lane, then this Giant met with me, and bid 
me prepare for an encounter ; but, alas ! feeble one that I was, I 
had more need of a cordial ; so he came up, and took me. I con- 
ceited he should not kill me ; also, when he got me into his den, 
since I went not with him willingly, I believed I 
should come out alive again ; for I have heard, that 
not any Pilgrim that is taken captive by violent hands, if he keeps 
heart-whole towards his Master, is, by the laws of Providence, to 
die by the hand of the enemy. Robbed I looked to be, and robbed 
to be sure I am ; but I am, as you see, escaped with life ; for the 
whidi I thank my King as author, and you as the means. Other 
brunts I also look for ; but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run 
Ma k th" when I can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep 

when I cannot go. As to the main, I thank him 
that loves me, I am fixed ; my way is before me, my mind is be- 
yond the river that has no bridge, though I am, as you see, but of 
2i feeble mind. 

Then said old Mr. Honest, Have not you, some time ago, been 
acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a Pilgrim ? 

Feeble-mind. Acquainted with him! yes, he came from the 
town of Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the northward of 
the city of Destruction, and as many off, of where I was born; yet 
Mr. Fearinff Mr. ^^ Were Well acquainted, for indeed he was mine 
Feeble-mind's un- uncle, my father's brother. He and I have been 
^^^- much of a temper ; he was a little shorter than I, 

but yet we were much of a complexion. 

Hon. I perceive you knew him, and I am apt to believe also that 
Feeble-mind has 1^^^ were related one to another ; for you have his 
some of Mr. Fear- whitely look, a cast like his with your eye, and 
ing's features. your speech is much alike. 

* 1 Thess. V. 14. 



pilgrim's progress. 31 J 

Feeble-mind. Most have said so that have knewn us both ; and, 
besides, what I have read in him, I have for the most part found 
in myself. 

Come, sir, said good Gaius, be of good cheer ; Gains comforts 
you are welcome to me and to my house ; and Wm. 
what thou hast a mind to, call for freely ; and what thou wouldst 
have my servants do for thee, they will do it with a ready mind. 

Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, This is unexpected favour, and as 
the sun shining out of a very dark cloud. Did Notice to be taken 
Giant Slay-good intend me this favour when he of Providence. 
stopped me, and resolved to let me go no further ? Did he intend, 
that, after he had rifled my pockets, I should go to Gaius, mine 
host ? Yet so it is. 

Now, just as Mr. Feeble-mind and Gaius were Ti^in<rg how one 
thus in talk, tliere comes one running, and called Not-rFgiit was slain 
at the door, and told that, about a mile and a half ^y a thunderbolt. 
off, there was one Mr. Not-right, a Pilgrim, struck dead upon the 
place where he was with a thunderbolt. Alas ! said Mr. Feeble- 
mind, is he slain ! He overtook me some days be- • Mr. Feeble-mind's 
fore I came so far as hither, and would be my com- comment upon it. 
pany-keeper. He was also with me when Slay-good the Giant 
took me ; but he was nimble of his heels and escaped ; but it seems, 
he escaped to die, and I was taken to live. 

What, one would think, doth seek to slay outright, 

Oft-times delivers from the saddest plight. 

That very Providence, whose face is deathj 

Doth oft-times to the lowly life bequeath : 

I taken was ; he did escape and flee ; 

Hands cross'd gave death to him, and life to me. 

Now, about this time, Matthew and Mercy were married ; also 
Gaius gave his daughter Phebe to James, Matthew's brother, to 
wife. After which time they yet stayed about ten days at Gaius's 
house, spending their time and the seasons like as Pilgrim's use to do. 

When they were to depart, Gaius made them a The Pilgrims pre 
feast, and they did eat and drink, and were merry, pare to go forward. 
Now the hour was come that they must be gone ; wherefore Mr. 
Great-heart called for a reckoning ; but Gaius told him, that at his 
house it was not the custom for Pilgrims to pay for their entertain- 
ment. He boarded them by the year ; but looked for his pay from 
the good Samaritan, who had promised him, at his return, what- 
soever charge he was at with them, faithfully to repay him.* Then 
said Mr. Great-heart to him: — 

* Luke X. 34, 36. 



312 pilgrim's progress. 

How they greet " Beloved, thou dost faithfully whatsoever thou 

one another at dost to the brethren and to strangers, which have 
parting. borne witness of thy charity before the Church J 

whom, if thou (yet) bring forward on their journey, after a godly 
sort, thou shalt do well."* 
^ . V 1 ». • 1 Then Gaius took his leave of them all and his 

Gams, his last kind- • i i /. 

ness to Feeble- children, and particularly of Mr. Feeble-mmd. He 
mind. also gave him something to drink by the way. 

Now Mr. Feeble-mind, when they were going out of the door, 
made as if he intended to linger. The which when Mr. Great- 
heart espied, he said. Come, Mr. Feeble mind, pray do you go 
along with us ; I will be youi conductor, and you shall fare as the 
rest. 

Feeble, Alas ! I want a suitable companion ; you are all lusty 
and strong, but I, as you see, am weak. I choose, therefore, rather 
Feeble-mind for to come behind, lest, by reason of my many infir- 
going behind. mities, I should be both a burden to myself and to 

you. I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble mind, and shall 
. be offended and made weak at that which othera 
can bear. I shail like no laughing ; I shall like no 
gay attire ; I shall like no unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so 
weak a man, as to be offended with that which others have a lib- 
erty to do. I do not yet know all the truth ;. I am a very ignorant 
Christian man. Sometimes, if I hear some rejoice m the Lord, it 
troubles me, because I cannot do so too. It is with me as it is with 
a weak man among the strong, or as with a sick man among the 
healthy, or as a lamp despised : (" He that is ready to slip with 
his feet, is as a lamp despised, in the thought of him that is at 
ease."t) so that I know^ot what to do. 

Great-heart's com- But, brother, said Mr. Great-heart, I have it in 
mission. commission " to comfort the feeble minded,^^ and 

" to support the weak.":{: You must needs go along with us. We 

, „^ will wait for you : we will lend you our help. § We 

A Christian spirit. .„ , -^ ' _ ^f -,-,.. 

Will deny ourselves of some things, both opmion- 

ative and practical, for your sake.|| We will not enter into doubt- 
ful disputations before you-TT We will be made all things to you 
rather than you shall be left behind.** 
Now all this while they were at Gaius, s door; and behold, as 
they were thus in the heat of their discourse, Mr, 

Promises. ni ,7 ■, .,,. , 

Ready-to-halt came by, with his crutches m his 
hand, and he also was going on pilgrimage. 

• 3 John verses 5, 6. t Job xii. 5. 1 1 Thess. v.U. § Rom. xiv. I. 

1 2 Cor. viii. 9-12. ir Rom. xiv. 1. ** 1 Cor. ix. 22. 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, 313 

Then said Mr. Feeble-mmd to him, Man, how earnest thou 
hither? I was but now complaining that I had peebie-mind giarf 
not a suitable companion, but thou art according to to see Ready to 
my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr. Ready- ^^^it come by. 
to-halt; I hope thou and I may be some help. 

I shall be glad of thy company, said the other , and, good Mr 
Feeble-mind, rather than we will part, since we are thus happily 
met, I will lend thee one of my crutches. 

Nay, said he, though I thank thee for thy good will, I am not 
mclined to halt before I am lame. Howbeit, I think, when occa 
sion isj it may help me against a dog. 

Ready-to-halt. If either myself or my crutches can do thee a 
pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr. Feeble-mind. 

Thus, therefore, they went on ; Mr. Great-heart and Mr. Honest 
went before, Christiana and her children went next, and Mr. Feeble 
mind and Mr. Ready-to-halt came behind, with his crutches. The? 
said Mr. Honest : — 

Pray, sir, now we are upon the road, tell us some ^ 

profitable things of some that have gone on pilgrim- 
age before us. 

Great-heart. With a good will. I suppose you have heard how 
Christian of old did meet with Apollyon in the Valley of Humil- 
iation ; and also what hard work he had to go through the Valley 
of the Shadow of Death. Also, I think you cannot but have heard 
how Faithful was put to it by Madam Wanton, with Adam the 
First, with one Discontent, and Shame ; four as deceitful villains 
as a man can meet with upon the road. 

Hon. Yes, I have heard of all this ; but, indeed, good Faithful 
was hardest put to it with Shame ; he was an unwearied one. 

Great-heart. Ay, for, as the Pilgrim well said, he of all men 
had the wrong name. 

Hon. But pray, sir, where was it that Christian and Faithful 
met Talkative ? That same was also a notable one. 

Great-heart. He was a confident fool ; yet many follov/ his ways. 

Hon. He had like to have beguiled Faithful. 

Great-heart. Ay, but Christian put him into a way quickly to 
find him out. 

Thus they went on till they came to the place where Evangelist 
met with Christian and Faithful, and prophesied to them what 
should befall them at Vanity-fair. Then said their guide, Here- 
abouts did Christian and Faithful meet with Evangelist, who 
prophesied to them of what ti-oubles they should meet with al 
Vanity-fair. 

27 



314 pilgrim's progress. 

Hon. Say you so ? I dare say it was a hard chapter that then 
he did read unto them. 

Great-heart. 'Twas so ; but he gave them encouragement withal. 
But what do we talk of them? they were a couple of lion-like 
men ; they had set their faces like flint. Do not you remember 
how undaunted they were when they stood before the judge ? 

Hon. Well, Faithful bravely suffered ! 

Great-heart. So he did, and as brave things came on't; for 
Hopeful, and some others, as the story relates it, were converted 
by his death. 

Hon. Well, but pray go on 3 for you are well acquamted with 
things. 

Great-heart. Above all that Christian met with after he had 
passed through Vanity-fair, one By-ends was the arch one. 

Hon. By-ends ; what was he ? 

Great-heart. A very arch fellow, a downright hypocrite ; one 
that would be religious whichever way the world went ; but so 
cunning, that he would be sure neither to lose nor suffer for it. He 
had his mode of religion for every fresh occasion, and his wife was 
as good at it as he. He would turn from opinion to opinion ; yea, 
and plead for so doing too. But, so far as I could learn, he came 
to an ill end with his by-ends ; nor did I ever hear that any of his 
children was ever of any esteem with any that truly feared God. 

Now by this time they were come within sight 
"ZS^'Z^r. °f Ae town of Vanity, where Vanity-fair is kept. 
So, when they saw that they were so near the town, 
they consulted with one another how they should pass through the 
town ; and some said one thing, and some another. At last Mr, 
Great-heart said, I have, as you may understand, often been a con- 
ductor of Pilgrims through this town ; now, I am acquainted with 
one Mr. Mnason, a Cyprusian by nation, an old disciple, at whose 
house we may lodge. If you think good, said he, we will turn in there. 

Content, said old Honest: content, said Christiana; content, 
said Mr. Feeble-mind ; and so they said all. Noav, you must think 
tViat it was even-tide by that they got to the outside of the town ; 
hut Mr. Great-heart knew the way to the old man's house. So 
thither they came, and he called at the door, and the old man within 
They enter into ^new his tongue SO soon as ever he heard it ; so 
one Mr. Mnason's he Opened, and they all came in. Then said Mna- 
to lodge. son, their host, How far have ye come to-day ? So 

they said, From the house of Gaius our friend. I promise you, said 
he, you have gone a good stitch ; you may well be aweary ; ait 
down. So hey sat down. 



pilgrhm's progress. 315 

Then said their guide, Come, what cheer, good sirs ? 1 dare say 
you are welcome to my friend. 

I also, said Mr. Mnason, do bid you welcome ; and whatever 
you want, do but say, and we will do what we can to get it for 
you. 

Hon. Our great want, a while since, was harbour They are glad of 
and good company, and now I hope we have both, entertainment. 

Mnason. For harbour, you see what it is > but for good company, 
that will appear in the trial. 

Well, said Mr. Great-heart, will you have the Pilgrims up into 
their lodging ? 

I will, said Mr. Mnason. So he had them to their respective 
places, and also showed them a very fair dining-room, where they 
might be and sup together, until the time was come to go to rest. 

Now, when they were set iii their places, and were a little cheery 
after their journey, Mr. Honest asked his landlord, if there were 
any store of good people in the town ? 

Mnason. We have a few, for indeed they are but a few, when 
compared with them on the other side. 

Hon. But how shall we do to see some of them ? rpj^ desire to see 
for the sight of good men to them, that are going some of the good 
on pilgrimage, is like to the appearing of the moon People of the town. 
and stars to them that are sailing upon the seas. 

Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and his daughter Grace 
oame up ; so he said unto her, Grace, go you tell 
my friends, Mr. Contrite^ Mr. Holy-man^ Mr. 
Love-saints^ Mr. Dare-not-lie^ and Mr. Penitent^ that I have a 
friend or two at my house that have a mind this evening to see 
them. 

So Grace went to call them, and they came ; and, after saluta 
tion made, they sat down together at the table. 

Then said Mr. Mnason, their landlord, My neighbours, I have 
as you see, a company of strangers come to my house ; they are 
Pilgrims, they come from afar, and are going to mount Zion. But 
who, quoth he, do you think this is ? pointing his finger to Chris- 
tiana ; it is Christiana, the wife of Christian, the famous Pilgrim, 
who, with Faithful his brother, was so shamefully handled in our 
town. At that they stood amazed, saying, We little thought to 
see Christiana, when Grace came to call us ; wherefore this is a 
very comfortable surprise ! They then asked her of her welfare, 
and if these young men were her husband's sons ? And when she 
had told them they were, they said, The King, whom you love and 
serve, make you as your father, and bring you where he is in peace ' 



3JG pilgrim's PROGfRESS. 

Some talk betwixt Then Mr. Honest (when they were all set down) 
Mr.HonestandMr. asked Mr. Contrite, and the rest, in what posture 
Contrite. ^j^g^j. town was at present ? 

Contrite. You may be sure we are full of hurry in fair-time 

'T is hard keeping our hearts and spirits in good 

watchfulness*^ ° order, when we are in a cumbered condition. He 

that lives in such a place as this is, and that has to 

do With such as we have, has need of an item^ to caution him to 

take heed every moment of the day. 

Hon. But how are your neighbours now for quietness ? 

Contrite. They are much more moderate now than formerly. 
Persecution not so ^ou know how Christian and Faithful were used 
not at Vanity-fair at our town J but of late, I say, they have been far 
as formerly. ;^oj.e moderate. I think the blood of Faithful lieth 

with a load upon them till now ; for since they burned him, they 
have been ashamed to burn any more. In those days we were 
afraid to walk the- streets, but now we can show our heads. Then 
the name of a Professor was odious j now, especially in some parts 
of our town, (for you know our town is large,) religion is counted 
honourable. 

Then said Mr. Contrite to them. Pray how fared it with you in 
your pilgrimage ? How stands the country affected towards you 1 

Hon. It happens to us as it happeneth to wayfaring men ; some- 
times our way is clean, sometimes foul ; sometimes up-hill, some- 
times down-hill ; we are seldom at a certainty ; the wind is not 
always on our backs, nor is every one a friend that we meet with 
in the way. We have met with some notable rubs already ; and 
what are yet behind we know not ; but, for the most part, we find 
it true that has been talked of, of old, " A good man must suffer 
trouble." 

Contrite. You talk of rubs ; what rubs have you met withal'.' 

Ho7i. Nay, ask Mr. Great-heart, our guide, for he can give the 
best account of that. 

Great-heart. We have been beset three or four times already. 
First, Christiana and her children were beset with two ruffians, 
that they feared would have taken away their lives. We were 
beset with Giant Bloody-man, Giant Maul, and Giant Slay-good. 
Indeed, we did rather beset the last than were beset of him. And 
thus it was : After we had been some time at the house of Gaius, 
mine host, and of the whole church, we were minded, upon a time, 
to take our weapons with us, and go see if we could light upon 
any of those that are enemies to Pilgrims ; (for we heard that there 
was a notable one thereabouts.) Now Gaius knew his haunt bet- 



pilgrim's progress. 317 

ter than I, because he dwelt thereabout ; so we looked and looked, 
till at last we discerned the mouth of his cave ; then we were glad, 
and plucked up our spirits. So we approached up to his den, and 
lo, when we came there, he had dragged by mere force, into his 
net, this poor man Mr. Feeble-mind, and was about to bring him 
to his end. But when he saw us, supposing, as we thought, he 
had had another prey, he left the poor man in his hole, and came 
out. So we fell to it full sore, and he lustily laid about him; but 
in conclusion, he was brought down to the ground, and his head 
cut off, and set up by the wayside for a terror to such as should 
after practice such ungodliness. That I tell you the truth, here is 
the man himself to affirm it, who was as a lamb taken out of the 
mouth of the lion. 

Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, I found this true to my cost and 
comfort ; to my cost, when he threatened to pick my bones every 
moment ; and to my comfort, when I saw Mr. Great-heart and his 
friends, with their weapons, approach so near for my deliverance. 

Then said Mr. Holy-man, There are two things Mr. Holy-man's 
that they have need to be possessed with that go speech, 
on pilgrimage, courage and an unspotted life. If they have not 
courage, they can never hold on their way; and if their lives 
be loose, they will make the very name of a Pilgrim stink. 

Then said Mr. Love-saints, I hope this caution Mr. Love-saint's 
is not needful amongst you. But truly there are speech. 
many that go upon the road that rather declare themselves strangers 
to pilgrimage, than strangers and Pilgrims on the earth. 

Then said Mr. Dare-not-lie, 'Tis true, they nei- Mr. Dare-not-iie, 
ther have the Pilgrim's weed, nor the Pilgrim's his speech, 
courage; they go not uprightly, but all awry with their feet; one 
shoe goes inward, another outward, and their hosen out behind ; 
here a rag, and there a rent, to the disparagement of their Lord. 

These things, said Mr. Penitent, they ought to Mr. Penitent, his 
be troubled for ; nor are the Pilgrims like to have speech. 
that grace put upon them, and their Pilgrim'' s Progress as they 
(desire, until the way is cleared of such spots and blemishes. 

Thus they sat talking and spending the lime, until supper was 
set upon the table ; unto which they went, and refreshed their 
weary bodies ; so they went to rest. Now they stayed in the Fair 
a great while, at the house of this Mr. Mnason, who, in process of 
time, gave his daughter Grace unto Samuel, Christiana's son, to 
wife, and his daughter Martha to Joseph. 

The time, as I said, that they lay here, was long, (for it was not 
.low as in former times ;) wherefore the Pilgrims grew acquainted 
27* 



318 pilgrim's progress. 

With many of tne good people of the town, and did tnem wnat ser- 
vice they could. Mercy, as she was wont, laboured much for the 
poor ; wherefore their bellies and backs blessed her, and she was 
there an ornament to her profession. And, to say the truth, for 
Grace, Phebe, and Martha, they were all of a very good nature, 
and did much good in their places. They were also all of them 
very fruitful ; so that Christian's name, as was said before, was 
like to live in the world. 

While they lay here, there came a Monster out 

of the woods, and slew many of the people of the 
town. It would also carry away their children, and teach them to 
suck its whelps. Now, no man in the town durst so much as face 
this Monster ; but all fled when they heard the noise of his coming. 

The Monster was like unto no one beast on the 

earth.* Its body was like a dragon, and it had 
seven heads and ten horns. It made great havoc of children, and 

yet it was governed by a woman. This Monster 

His nature. ^ , , . . '^ , , 

propounded conditions to men ; and such men as 

loved their lives more than their souls accepted of those conditions. 

So they came under. 

Now Mr. Great-heart, together with those who came to visit the 
Pilgrims at Mr. Mnason's house, entered into a covenant to go and 
engage this beast, if perhaps they might deliver the people of this 
town from the paws and mouths of this so devouring a serpent. 

Then did Mr. Great-heart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. 
Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, with their weapons, go forth to 
meet him. Now the Monster at first was very rampant, and looked 
Howh "s n<rao- d ^P^n these enemies with great disdain J but they so 
belaboured him, being sturdy men at arms, that 
they made him make a retreat j so they came home to Mr. Mnason's 
house again. 

The Monster, you must know, had his certain seasons to come out 
in, and to make his attempts upon the children of the people of the 
town. At these seasons did these valiant worthies watch him in, and 
did still continually assault him ; insomuch that, in process of time, 
he became not only wounded, but lame j also he has not made that 
havoc of the townsmen's children, as formerly he had done. And 
it is verily believed by some that this beast will die of his wounds. 

This, therefore, made Mr. Great-heart and his fellows of great 
fame in this town ; so that many of the people, that wanted their 
taste of things, yet had a reverend esteem and respect for them. 
Upon this account, therefore, it was that these Pilgrims got not 

* Rev. xlii. 1. — xvii. 3 



pilgrim's progress. 319 

much hurt here. True, there were some of the baser sort, that 
could see no more than a mole, nor understand no more than a 
beast ; these had no reverence for these men, nor took they notice 
of their valour and adventures. 

Well, the time grew on that the Pilgrims must go on their way, 
wherefore they prepared for their journey. They sent for their 
friends ; they conferred with them ; they had some time set apart 
therein to commit each other to the protection of their Prince. 
They were again that brought them of such things as ihey had, 
that were fit for the weak and the strong, for the women and the 
men ; and so laded them with such things as were necessary.* 

Then they set forward on their way ; and their friends accom- 
panying them so far as was convenient, they again committed each 
other to the protection of their King, and parted. 

They, therefore, that were of the Pilgrim's company, went on, 
and Mr. Great-heart went before them. Now, the women and 
children being weakly, they were forced to go as they could bear ; 
by this means Mr. Ready-to-halt and Mr. Feeble-mind had more 
to sympathize with their condition. 

When they were gone from the townsmen, and when their friends 
had bid them farewell, they quickly came to the place where Faith- 
ful was put to death ; therefore they made a stand, and thanked 
Him that had enabled him to bear his cross so well ; and the rather, 
because they now found that they had a benefit by such a manly 
suffering as his was. 

They went on, therefore, after this, a good way farther, talking 
of Christian and Faithful, and how Hopeful joined himself to Chris- 
tian after that Faithful was dead. 

Now they were come up with the hill Lucre, where the silver 
mine was, which took Demas off from his pilgrimage, and into 
which, as some think. By-ends fell and perished ; wherefore they 
considered that. But when they were come to the old monument 
tnat stood over against the hill Lucre, to wit, to the pillar of salt, 
that stood also within view of Sodom and its stinking lake, they 
marvelled, as did Christian before, that men of that knowledge and 
ripeness of wit, as they were, should be so blinded as to turn aside 
here. Only they considered again, that nature is not affected with 
the harms that others have met with, especially if that thing upon 
which they look has an attracting virtue upon the foolish eye. 

I saw now that they went on till they came to the river that was 
on this side of the Delectable mountains ; to the river where the 
fine trees grow on both sides, and whose leaves if taken inwardly. 

* Acts xr\iii 10 



J'\ 




fPilgrims lookmg at the Pillar of Salt.] 

are good against sarfeits ; where the meadows are green atl the 
year long, and where they might lie down safely.* By this river- 
side, in the meadows, there were eotes and folds for sheep, a hcuse 
built for the nourishing and bringing up of those lambs, the babes 
of those women that go on pilgrimage. f Also there was here one 
that was intrusted with them, who could have compassion, and 
that could "gather these lambs with his arm, and carry them in his 
bosom, '^^ and that could " gently lead those that are with young."J 
Now, to the care of this Man Christiana admonished her four 
daughters to commit their little ones^ that, by these waters, they 
might be housed, harboured, succoured, and nourished, and that 
none of them might be lacking in time to come.§ This man, if 
any of them go astray or be lost, he will bring them again ; he will 
* Psalm xxiii. * Heb, v. 2. J Isa xl. il. § Jer. xsiii. 4. 

32a 



pilgrim's progress. 321 

also "bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen thera 
that are sick."* Here they will never want meat, drink, and cloth- 
ing ; here they will be kept from thieves and robbers ; for this 
Man will die before one of those committed to his trust shall 
be lost. Besides, here they shall be sure to have good nurtri- 
ture and admonition, and shall be taught to walk m right paths, 
and that, you know, is a favour of no small account. Also 
here, as you see, are delicate waters, pleasant meadows, dainty 
flowers, variety of trees, and such as bear wholesome fruit ; fruit 
not like that which Matthew ate of, that fell over the wall, out of 
Beelzebub's garden ; but fruit that procureth health where there is 
none, and that continueth and increaseth it where it is. 

So they were content to commit their little ones to him ; and 
that which was also an encouragement to them so to do was, for 
that all this was to be at the charge of the King; and so was as an 
hospital to young children and orphans. 

Now they went on, and when they were come ^^ , . 

•n 7 1 •! 1 • 1 /~<i • They being come 

to By-patfi-meadow, to the stile over which Chris- to By-path stile 
tian went with his fellow Hopeful, when they were iiave a mind to 
taken by Giant Despau-, and put into Doubting ^^^t Delpah-^'^*" 
Castle, they sat down and consulted what was best 
to be done ; to wit, now they were so strong, and had got such a 
man as Mr. Great-heart for their conductor, whether they had not best 
to make an attempt upon the Giant, demolish his Castle, and if 
there were any Pilgrims in it, to set them at liberty, before they 
went any farther. So one said one thing, and another said the 
contrary. One questioned if it was lawful to go upon unconse- 
crated ground ; another said they might, provided their end was 
good ; but Mr. Great-heart said, Though that assertion offered last 
cannot be universally true, yet I have a commandment to resist 
sin, to overcome evil, to fight the good fight of faith ; and, I pray, 
with whom should I- fight this good fight, if not with Giant De- 
spair ? I will therefore attempt (he taking away of his life, and the 
demolishing of Doubting Castle. Then said he, Who will go with 
me ? Then said old Honest, I will ; and so will we, too, said 
Christiana's four sons, Matthew, Samuel, Joseph, and James, for 
they were young men, and strong.f So they left the women in 
the road, and with them Mr. Feeble-mind, and Mr. Ready-to-halt, 
with his crutches, to be their guard until they came back ; for in 
that place the Giant Despair dwelt so near, they keeping in the 
road, " a little child might lead them."l 

So Mr. Great-heart, old Honest, and the four young men, went 

* Jer. xxiii. 4. Ezek. xxxiv. 11-16. 1 1 John ii. 13, 14. t Isaiah xi. 6 




[Doubting Castle demolisiicd. 

to go up to Doubting Castle, to look for Giant Despair. WUen they 
came at the castle-gate, they knocked for entrance with an umiiSTial 
noise. At that the old Giant comes to the gate, and Dif&dence his 
wife follows. Then said he. Who, and what is he, that is so hardy, 
as after this manner, to molest the Giant Despair ? Mr. Great- 
heart replied, It is I, Great-heart, one of the* King of the Celestial 
Country's conductors of Pilgrims to their place ; and I demand of 
thee that thou open thy gates for my entrance ; prepare thyself 
also to fight, for I am come to take away thy head, and to demolish 
Doubting Castle. 

Now Giant Despair, because he was a Giant. 
.^!Fr^r.^If. °^^^* thought no man could overcome him : and again, 

«ome angels. ^ j o j 

thought he, since heretofore I have made a con- 
quest of angels, shall Great-heart make me afraid ? So he har- 
nessed himself, and went out. He had a cap of steel upon his bead. 
322 




[I'lie Pilgrims rejoicing at the death of Giant Despaw.} 

a breastplate of fire girded to him, and he came out m iron sJiues 
with a great club in his hand. Then these six men made up to 
him. and beset him behind and before ; also, when Diffidence the 
Giantess came up to help him, old Mr. Honest cut her down at one 
blow. Then they fought for their lives, and Giant 

•i-\ T-ixj i.^1, ji* Despair is loath to 

Despair was brought down to the ground, but was ^jjg_ 

very loath to die ; he struggled hard, and had, as 

they say, as many lives as a cat ; but Great-heart was his death, 

for he left him not till he had severed his head from his shoulders. 

Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, 
and that, you know, might with ease be done, since jje^oUshfd. ^^'^ 
Giant Despair was dead. They were seven days m 
destroying of that ; and in it, of Pilgrims, they found one Mr. De- 
spondency, almost starved to death, and one Much-afraid, his 
daughter: these two they saved alive. But it would have made 
you a- wondered to have seen the dead bodies that lay here and 
there m the Castle-yard, and how full of dead men's bones the 
dungeon was. 

When Mr. Great-heart and his companions had performed this 

exploit, they vook Mr. Despondency and his daughter Much-afraid 

into their prorection; for they were honest peop'*^, though they 

Wftre prisonerfs in Doubting Castle to that tyrant Giant Despair 

323 



324 PFLGRIM^g PROGRESS. 

They therefore, I say, took with them the head of the Giant, (fo? 
his hody they had buried under a heap of stones,) and down to the 
road and to their companions they came, and showed them whal 
they had done Now, when Feeble-mind and Ready-to-halt saw 
They have music ^^^^ ^^ "^^^ ^^® ^^^^ °^ Giant Despair, indeed they 
and dancing for were very jocund and merry. Now Christiana, if 
i°y- need was, could play upon the viol, and her daugh- 

ter Mercy upon the lute ; so, since they were sa merry disposed^ 
she played them a lesson, and Ready-to-halt would dance. So he 
took Despondency's daughter. Much-afraid, by the hand, and to 
dancing they went in the road. True, he could not dance without 
one crutch in his hand ; but I promise you he footed it well ; also 
the girl was to be commended, for she answered the music hand- 
somely. As for Mr. Despondency, the music was not so much to 
him ; he was for feeding rather than dancing, for that he was 
almost starved. So Christiana gave him some of her bottle of 
spirits for present relief, and then prepared him something to eat 5 
and in little time the old gentleman came to himself, and began to 
be finely revived. 

Now I saw in my dream, when all these things were finished, 
Mr. Great-heart took the head of Giant Despair, and set it upon a 
pole by the highway side, right over against the pillar that Chris- 
tian erected, for a caution to Pilgrims that came after, to take heed 
of entering into his grounds. 

Then he writ under it upon a marble stone, these verses foi 
lowing :— 

This, is the head of him whose name only 

In former times did Pilgrims terrify. 

His Castle 's down, andDifl5dence, his wife. 

Brave Mr. Great-heart has bereft of life. 
A. monument of Despondency, his daughter Much-afraid, 
deliverance. Great-heart for them also the man has played 

Who hereof doubts, if he'll but cast his eye, 

Up hither, may his scruples satisfy. 

This head also, w^hen doubting cripples dance, 

Doth show from fears they have deliverance. 

When these men had thus bravely showed themselves against 
Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant Despair, they went forward, 
and went on till they came to the Delectable Mountains, where 
Christian and Hopeful refreshed themselves with the varieties of 
the place. They also acquainted themselves with the Shepherds 
there, who welcomed them, as they had done Christian before, 
unto the Delectable Mountains. 

Now the Shepherds, seeing so great a train follow Mr. Great- 



pilgrim's progress. 32o 

heart, (for with him they were well acquainted,) they said unto 
him, Good sir, you have got a goodly company here j pray, where 
did you find all these ? 

T'nen Mr. Great-heart replied : — 

First here is Christiana and her train, 

Her sons and her sons' wives, who, hke tlie wain, 

Keep by the pole, and do by compass steer 

From Sin to Grace, else they had not been here. 

Next, here 's old Honest come on pilgrimage ; 

Ready-to-halt too, who, I dare engage. The guide's speecli 

True-hearted is ; and so is Feeble-mind, to the Shepherds. 

Who willing was not to be left behind ; 

Despondency, good man is coming after, 

And so also is Much-afraid, his daughter. 

May we have entertainment here, or must 

We farther go 1 Let 's know whereon to trust. 



Their entertain- 
ment. 



Then said the Shepherds, This is a comfortable 
company ! You are welcome to us, for we have 
for the feeble as well as for the strong ; our Prince 
has an eye to what is done to the least of these.* Therefore infirm- 
ity must not be a block to our entertainment. So they had them 
to the palace-door, and then said unto them, Come in, Mr. Feeble- 
mind ; come in, Mr. Ready-to-halt ; come in, Mr. Despondency, and 
Mrs. Much-afraid, his daughter. These, Mr. Great-heart, said the 
Shepherds to the guide, we call in by name, for that they are most 
subject to draw back ; but as for you, and the rest that are strong, 
we leave you to your wonted liberty. Then said Mr. Great-heart, 
This day I see that grace doth shine in your faces, and that you 
are my Lord's Shepherds indeed ; for that you ^ description of 
have not pushed these diseased neither with side false Shepherds. 
nor shoulder, but have rather strewed their way into the palace 
with flowers, as you should. f 

So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr. Great-heart and the 
rest did follow. When they were also set down, the shepherds 
said to those of the weaker sort. What is it that you would have ? 
for, said they, all things must be managed here to the supporting 
of the weak, as well as to the warning of the unruly. 

So they made them a feast of things easy of digestion, and that 
were pleasant to the palate, and nourishing ; the which when 
they had received, they went to their rest, each one respectively 
unto his proper place. When morning was come, because the 
Mountains were high, and the day clear, and because it was the 
custom of the shepherds to show the Pilgrims, before their i'^- 

' Matth XXV. 40. t Ezek, xxxiv. 21. 

28 



326 pilgrim's progress 

parture, some rarities, therefore, after they were ready, and had 

refreshed themselves, the shepherds took them out into the fields, 

and showed them first what they had shown to Christian before. 

Then they had them to some new places : the first was mount 

Alarvel, where they looked, and beheld a man at a 

distance, that tumbled the hills about with words. 

Then they asked the shepherds, what that should mean ? So they 

told them, that that man was the son of one Mr. Great-grace, of 

whom you read in the first part of the records of the Pilgrim's Prog 

ress ', and he is set there to teach Pilgrims how to believe dow7iy 

or to tumble out of their ways, what difficultieri they should meet 

with, by faith.* Then said Mr. Great-heart, I know him j he is a 

man above many. 

Then they had them to another place called 

Mount Innocence. ^ , , i , 1,1 

mount Innocence ; and there they saw a man cloth- 
ed all in white 3 and two men, Prejudice and Ill-will^ continually 
casting dirt upon him. Now, behold, the dirt, whatsoever they 
cast at him, would in a little time fall ofi" again, and his garment 
would look as clear as if no dirt had been cast thereat. 

Then said the Pilgrims, What means this? The shepherds 
answered. This man is named Godly-man, and this garment is to 
show the innocency of his life. Now, those that throw dirt at him 
are such as hate'his well-doing ; but, as you see, the dirt will not 
stick upon his clothes : so it shall be with him that liveth inno- 
cently in the world. Whoever they be that would make such 
men dirty, they labour all in vain ; for God, by that a little time is 
spent, will cause that their innocence shall break forth as the light, 
and their righteousness as the noonday. 

Then they took them, and had them to mount 

Charity, where they showed them a man that had 

a bundle of cloth lying before him, out of which he cut coats and 

garments for the poor that stood about him; yet his bundle, or roll 

of cloth, was never the less. 

Then said they. What should this be? This is, said the shep- 
herds, to show you, that he who has a heart to give of his labour 
to the poor shall never want wherewithal. He that watereth shall 
be watered himself. And the cake that the widow gave to the 
prophet did not cause that she had the less in her barrel. 
The work of one They had them also to the place where they saw 
Fool and one Want- one Fool and one Want-wit washing an Ethiopian, 
^^' with intention to make him white ; but the more 

they washed him, the blacker he was. Then they asked the shep- 

•Markxi 23 24 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 327 

herds, What that should mean? So they told them, saying: Thus 
it is with the vile person; all means used to get such a one a good 
name shall, in conclusion, tend but to make him more abominable. 
Thus it was with the Pharisees, and so it shall be witn ail nypo- 
crites. 

Then said Mercy, the wife of Matthew, to Chris- Mercy has a mind 
tiana her mother. Mother, I would, if it might be, ^^^^^^^^^^ ^°^^ '" 
see the hole in the hill, or that commonly called 
the By-way to hell. So her mother brake her mmd to the shep- 
herds. Then they went to the door, it was on the side of an hill; 
and they opened it, and bid Mercy hearken a while. So she heark- 
ened, and heard one saying, " Cursed be my father, for holding of 
my feet back from the way of peace and life :" and another said, 
" O that I had been torn in pieces, before I had, to saye my life, 
lost my soul!" and another said, "If I were to live again, how 
would I deny myself, rather than come to this place !" Then 
there was as if the very earth had groaned and quaked under the 
feet of this young woman for fear ; so she looked while, and came 
trembling away, saying, Blessed be he and she that is delivered 
from this place. 

Now, when the shepherds had shown them all these things, then 
they had them back to the palace, and entertained them with what 
the house would afford. But Mercy, being a young Mercy longeth, 
and breeding woman, longed for something that she and for what. 
saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her mother-in-law then asked 
her what she ailed ? for she looked as one not well. Then said 
Mercy, There is a looking-glass hangs up in the dining room, off 
which I cannot take my mind ; if therefore I have it not I think I 
shall miscarry. Then said her mother, I will mention thy wants 
to the shepherds, and they will not deny it thee. But she said, I 
am ashamed that these men should know that I longed. Nay, my 
daughter, said she, it is no shame, but a virtue, to long for such a 
thing as that ; so Mercy said. Then, mother, if you please, ask the 
shepherds if they are willing to sell it. 

Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a man 
one way, with his own features exactly, and turn j^ ^^s the word of 
it but another way, and it would show one the very ^fod, 
face and similitude of the Prince of Pilgrims himself. Yes, I have 
talked with them that can tell, and they have said that they have 
seen the very crown of thorns upon his head, by looking in that 
glass ; they have therein also seen the holes in his hands, his feet, 
and his side. Yea, such an excellency is there in this glass, that 
It will show him to one where they have a mind to see him, whether 



328 pilgrim's progress. 

living or dead ; whether in earth or in heaven ; whether m a state 
of humiliation, or in his exaltation ; whether coming to suffer, or 
oommg to reign.* 

Christiana, therefore, went to the shepherds apart, (now the 
names of the shepherds were Knowlpclge, Experience, Watchful, 
and Sincere,) and said unto them, There is one of my daughters, a 
breeding woman, that I think doth long for something that she 
hath seen in this house, and she thinks she shall miscarry, if she 
should by you be denied. 

Experience. Call her, call her ; she shall assm-edly have what 
we can help her to. So they called her, and said to her, Mercy, what 
She doth not lose is that thing thou wouldst have ? Then she blush- 
her longing, ed, and said, The great glass that hangs up in the 

dining-room; so Sincere ran and fetched it, and, with a joyful con- 
sent, it was given her. Then she bowed her head, and gave thanks, 
and said, By this I know that I have obtained favour in your eyes. 

They also gave to the other young women such things as they 
desired, and to their husbands great commendations, for that they 
had joined with Mr. Great-heart in the slaying of Giant Despair, 
and the demolishing of Doubting Castle. 

now the shep- About Christiana's neck the shepherds put a 
herds adorn the bracelet, and so did they about the necks of her 
Pilgrims. fo^j. daughters ; also they put ear-rings in their ears, 

and jewels on their foreheads. , 

When they were minded to go hence, they let them go in peace, 
but gave not to them those certain cautions w^hich before were 
given to Christian and his companion. The reason was, for that 
these had Great-heart to be their guide, who was one that was well 
acquainted with things, and so could give them their cautions more 
seasonably ; to wit, even when the danger was nigh the approaching. 

What cautions Christian and his companion had received of the 
shepherds, they had also lost by that the time was come that they 
had need to put them in practice. Wherefore here was the advan- 
tage that this company had over the other. 

From thence they went on singing ; and they said : — 

Behold ! how fitly are the stages set, 

For their relief that Pilgrims are become ! 
And how they us receive without one let, 

That make the other life our mark and home 
What novelties they have, to us they give, 
That we, though Pilgrims, joyful lives may live. 
They do upon us, too, such things bestow, 
That show we Pilgrims are where'er we go. 

*1 Cor. xiii. 12. 2 Cor. iii. 18. 



pu.grim's progress. 329 

When they were gone from the shepherds, they quickly came to 
the place wnere Christian met with one Turn-away, that dwelt in 
the town of Apostacy. Wherefore of him Mr. Great-heart, theii 
guide, did now put them in mind, saying, This is the place where 
Christian met with one Turn away, who carried with him the char- 
acter of his rebellion at his back. And this I have to say concerning 
this man, he would hearken to no counsel, but, once a-falling, per- 
suasion could not stop him. 

When he came to the place where the Cross and How one Turn- 
Sepulchre was, he did meet with one that did bid away managed his 
nim look there ; but he gnashed his teeth, and ^P^^^^^y- 
stamped, and said he was resolved to go back to his own town. 
Before he came to the gate, he met with Evangelist, who offered 
to lay hands on him, to turn him into the way again ; but this 
Turn-away resisted him, and having done much despite unto him, 
he got away over the wall, and so escaped his hand. 

Then they went on, and just at the place where Little-faith 
formerly was robbed, there stood a man with his sword drawn, and 
his face all over with blood. Then said Mr. Great-heart, Who art 
thou ? The man made answer, saying, I am one whose name is 
Valiant-for-truth. I am a Pilgrim, and am going to the Celestial 
City. Now, as I was in my way, there were three ^^^ vaiiant-for- 
men did beset me, and propounded unto me these truth beset with 
three things : 1. Whether I would become one of thieves. 
them ? 2. Or go back from whence I came ? 3. Or die upon the 
place ? To the first I answered, I had been a true man for a long 
season, and therefore it could not be expected that I should now 
cast in my lot with thieves.* Then they demanded what I would 
say to the second ? So I told them. The place from whence I 
came, had I not found incommodity there, I had not forsaken it at 
all ; but finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofit- 
able for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me what 
I said to the third ? and I told them, My life cost far more dear 
than that I should lightly give it away. Besides, you have nothing 
to do thus to put things to my choice ; wherefore at your peril be 
it, if you meddle. Then these three, to wit, Wildhead, Inconsid- 
erate, and Pragmatic, drew upon me, and I also drew upon them. 
So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above three 
hours. They have left upon me, as you see some of the marks of 
their valour, and have also carried away with them some of mine. 
They are but just now gone. I suppose they might, as the saying 
is, heai your horse dash, and so they betook themselves to flight 

* Prov. i. 10, 11, 13, 14. 

28* 



330 pilgrim's progress. 

Great-heart. But here was great odds, three against one. 

Val. 'T is true; but little or more are nothing to him that has 
the tmth on his side. " Though a host should encamp against me, 
(said one,) my heart shall not fear; though war rise against. me, 
m this will I be confident," &c. Besides, said he, I have read in 
some records that one man has fought an army ; and how many 
did Samson slay with the jawbone of an ass ? 

Then said the guide. Why did you not cry out, that some might 
have come in for your succour 1 

Val. So I did to my King, who I knew could hear me, and aflford 
invisible help ; and that was sufficient for me. 

Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Thou hast wor- 
thily behaved thyself; let me see thy sword. So he showed it him. 
When he had taken it in his hand, and looked thereon a while, he 
said. Ha ! it is a right Jerusalem blade. 

Val. It is so. Let a man have one of these blades, with a hand 
to wield it, and skill to use it, and he may venture upon an angel 
with it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but tell how to lay 
on. Its edge will never blunt ; it will cut flesh and bones, and soul 
and spirit, and all. 

Great-heart. But you fought a great while ; I wonder you was 
not weary. 

Val. I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand, 

and then they were joined together, as if a sword 

® ^^* ' grew out of my arm; and when the blood ran 

Blood. through my fingers, then I fought with most courage. 

Great-heart. Thou hast done well; thou hast "resisted unto 
olood, striving against sin." Thou shalt abide by us, come in and 
go out with' us, for we are thy companions. 

Then they took him, and washed his wounds, and gave him of 
what they had to refresh him ; and so they went on together. Now, 
as they went on, because Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him, 
(for he loved one greatly that he found to be a man of his hands,) 
and because there were in company them that were feeble and 
weak ; therefore he questioned with him about many things ; as, 
first, What countryman he was ? 

Val. I am oi Dark-land j for there was I born, and there my 
father and mother are still. 

Dark-land ! said the guide ; doth not that lie on the same coast 
with the city of Destruction ? 

itow Mr. Valiant ^^^' ^^^ '^^ doth. Now, that which caused me 
came to go on pii- to come on pilgrimage was this : We had one Mr. 
gnmage. Tell-true came into our parts, and he told it about 



pilgrim's progress. 331 

vvnat Cliristian had done that went from the city of Destruction ; 
namely, how he had forsaken his wife and children, and had betaken 
himself to a Pilgrim's life. It was also confidently reported, how 
he had killed a serpent that did come out to resist him in his jour- 
ney, and how he got through to whither he intended. It was also 
told what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, especially 
when he came to the gates of the Celestial City ; for there, said 
the man, he was received with sound of trumpet by a company of 
Shining Ones. He told also, how all the bells in the City did ring 
for joy at his reception, and what golden garments he was clothed 
with ; with many other things that now I shall forbear to relate. 
In a word, that man so told the story of Christian and his travels, 
that my heart fell into a burning haste to be gone after him ; nor 
could father or mother stay me ; so I got from them, and am come 
thus far on my way. 

Great-heart. You came m at the Gate, did you not ? 

Val. Yes, yes : for the same man also told us „ , . 

1 „ IT , 1 . ./. Ti T . He begins right 

that all would be nothmg, ii we did not begin to 
enter this Way at the Gate. 

Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pil- 
grimage of your husband, and what he has gotten ^^0^3^"^'^ °*™* 
thereby, is spread abroad far and near. 

VaL Why, is this Christian's wife 7 
. Great-heart. Yes, that it is, and these also are his four sons. 

Val. What ! and going on pilgrimage, too ? 

Great-heart. Yes, verily, they are following after. 

Val. It glads me at the heart. Good man ! how jjg jg ^^^^ j.^.^. 
joyful will he be, when he shall see them that would ced to see Chris 
not go with him, yet to enter after him in at the Mian's wife, 
gates into the Celestial City ? 

Great-heart. Without doubt it will be a comfort to him ; for, 
next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a joy to meet 
there his wife and children. 

Val. But now you are upon that, pray let me see your opinion 
about il. Some make a question whether we shall know one an- 
other when we are there ? 

Great-heart. Do you think they shall know themselves then, or 
that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that bliss ? And if they 
think they shall know and do this, why not know others, and rejoice 
in their welfare also ? Again, since relations are our second self, 
though that state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be 
rationally concluded that we shall be more glad to see them there 
than to see they are wanting ? 



332 pilgrim's progress. 

Val. Weil, I perceive whereabouts you are as to this. Have 
you any more things to ask me about my beginnmg to come on 
pilgrimage ? 

Great-heo.rt. Yes ; were your father and mother willing that 
you should become a Pilgrim ? 

Val. Oh ! no ; they used all means imaginable to persuade me 
to stay at home. 

Great-heart. Why, what could they say against it 1 

Val. They said it was an idle life ; and if I my- 
biin<r blocks that Self Were not inclined to sloth and lazmess, I would 
by his friends were never countenance a Pilgrim's condition, 
laid in his way.] Great-heart. And what did they say else ? 

Val. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous way ; yea, the 
most dangerous way in the world, say they, is that which the 
Pilgrims go. 

Great-heart. Did they show you wherein this way is so dan- 
gerous ? 

Val. Yes ; and that in many particulars. 

Great-heart. Name some of them. 

Val. They told me of the slough of Despond, 
Viock,^^ ^ ^°^ ''^^ where Christian was well nigh smothered. They 
told me that there were archers standing leady in 
Beelzebub Castle, to shoot them who should knock at the Wicket- 
Gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood and dark moun- 
tains ; of the hill Difficulty ; of the lions ; and also of the three 
giants, Bloody-man, Maul, and Slay-good. They said, moreover, 
that there was a foul fiend haunted the Valley of Humiliation, and 
that Christian was by him almost bereft of life. Besides, said they, 
you must go over the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the 
hobgoblins are ; where the light is darkness ; where the way is 
full of snares, pits, traps, and gins. They told me also of Giant 
Despair, of Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the Pilgrims met 
with there. Farther, they said, I must go over the Enchanted 
Ground, which was dangerous ; and that, after all this, I should 
find a river over which there was no bridge ; and that that river 
did lie betwixt me and the Celestial Country. 

Great-heart. And was this all 1 

^ , Val. No ; they also told me that this way was 

The second. o ^^ r 2 • j r .-u . i • 

full of deceivers, and of persons that lay in wait 
there to turn good men out of the path. 

Great-heart. But how did they make that out ? 

Val. They told me that Mr. Worldly-wise-man did lie there m 
wait to deceive. They said also, that there were Formality and 



pilgrim's progress. 



333 



Hypocrisy continually on the road. They said also that By-ends, 
Talkative, or Demas, would go near to gather me up ; that the 
FZa^erer would catch me in his net; or that, with green-headed 
lo-norance, I would presume to go on to the Gate, from whence he 
was sent back to the hole that was in the side of the hill, and made 
to go the by-way to hell. 

Great-heart. I promise you this was enough to discourage thee ; 
but did they make an end there ? 

Val No; stay. They told me also of many ^he third. 
that had tried that way of old, and that had gone a ^ , ^ 

sreat way therein, to see if they could find something of the glory 
there, that so many had so much talked of from time to time ; and 
how Ihey came back again, and befooled themselves for setting a 
foot out of doors in that path, to the satisfaction of all the country. 
And they named several that did so ; as Obstinate and Pliable 
Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away and old Atheist ; with several 
more who, they said, had some of them gone far to see what they 
could find ; but not one of them had found so much advantage by 
going as amounted to the weight of a feather. 

Great-heart. Said they any thing more to discourage you? 
Val. Yes ; they told me of one Mr. Fearing, ^^^ ^^^^^^ 
who was a pilgrim ; and how he found his way so ^ . . 

solitary, that he never had a comfortable hour therem. Also that 
Mr. Despondency had like to have been starved therem ; yea, and 
also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian himself, about whom 
there has been such a noise, after all his ventures for a celestial 
crown, was certainly drowned in the Uack river, and never went 
a foot farther, however it was smothered up. 

Great-heart. And did none of these things discourage you 7 
Val. No ; they seemed but as so many nothings to me. 
Great-heart. How came that about '? 

Val. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true ^{.0^7 he got ovei 
had said, and that carried me beyond them all. these stumbling 

Great-heart. Then this Avas your victory, even ^^ - 

your faith. „ . * * 

Val. It was so • \ believed, and therefore came out, got into 
the way, fought all that set themselves against me, and by be* 
lieving am come to this place. 



Who would true valour see, 
Let him come hither ; 

One here will constant be, 
Come wind, come weather. 



334 pilgrim's proghess. 

There 'a no discoxiragement 
Shall make him once relent 
His first avowed intent 
To be a Pilgrim. 

Who so heset him round 

With dismal stories, 
Do but themselves confound ; 

His strength the more is. 
No Lion can him fright ; 
He '11 with a Giant fight, 
But he will have a right 

To be a Pilgrim. 

Hobgoblin, nor foul fiend, 

Can daunt his spirit ; 
He knows he at the end 

Shall life inherit. 
Then fancies fly away ; 
He '11 not fear what men say ; 
He '11 labour night and day 

To be a Pilgrim. 

By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, where tne 
air naturally tended to make one drowsy; and that place was '^Jl 
grown over with briers and thorns, excepting here and there where 
was an Enchanted Arbour, upon which if a man sits, or in whjih 
if a man sleeps, 't is a question, some say, whether ever he shall 
rise or wake again in this world. Over this forest, therefore, they 
went, both one and another ; and Mr. Great-heart went before for 
*hat he was the guide, and Mr. Valiant-for-truth came behind, be- 
ing rear-guard, for fear lest, peradventure, some fiend, or dragon, 
or giant, or thief, should fall upon their rear, and so do mischief. 
They went on here, each man with his sword drawn in his hand, 
for they knew it was a dangerous place ; also they cheered up one 
another as well as they could. Feeble-mind Mr. Great-heart com- 
manded should come up after him, and Mr. Despondency was under 
the eye of Mr. Valiant. 

Now they had not gone far but a great mist and darkness fell 
upon them all, so that they could scarce for a great while see the 
one the other. Wherefore they were forced for some time to 
feel one for another by words ; for they walked not by sight. 

But any one must think that here was but sorry going for the 
best of them all ; but how much worse for the women and children, 
who, both of feet and heart, were but tender ? Yet so it was, that, 
through the encouraging words of him that led in the front, and 
of him that brought them up behind, they made a pretty good shift 
to wag along. The way also here was very wearisome through 
dirt and slabbmess ; nor was there, on all this ground, so much as 



pilgrim's progress. 335 

an inn or victualling-house Avherem to refresh the feebler son. 
Here, therefore, was grunting, and puffing, and sighing ; while one 
rumbleth over a bush, another sticks fast in the dirt ; and the chil- 
dren, some of them, lost their shoes in the mire : while one cries 
out, I am down ! and another. Ho ! where are you 7 and a third, 
The bushes have got such fast hold on me, I think I cannot get 
away from them. 

Then they came at an Arbour, warm, and prom- ^ Arbour on 
ising much refreshmg to the Pilgrims ; for it was the Enchanting 
finely wrought above-head, beautified with greens, <5round. 
furnished with benches and settles. It also had in it a soft couch, 
whereon the weary might lean. This, you must think, all things 
considered, was tempting; for the Pilgrims already began to be 
foiled with the badness of the way; but there was not one of them 
that made so much as a motion to stop there ; yea, for aught I could 
perceive, they continually gave so good heed to the advice of their 
guide, and he did so faithfully tell them of dangers, and of the na- 
ture of dangers, when they were at them, that usually, when they 
were nearest to them, they did most pluck up their spirits, and 
hearten one another to deny the flesh. This Arbour was called 
The SlothfuVs Friend, on purpose to allure, if it j,^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^j^g 
might be, some of the Pilgrims there to take up Arbour. 
iheir rest when weary. 

I saw then in my dream, that they went on in this their solitary 
ground, till they came to a place at which a man 
is apt to lose his way. Now, though, when it was '^^^^^ *^'*'''^' 
light, their guide could well enough tell how to 
miss those ways that led wrong, yet in the dark he was put to a 
stand ; but he had in his pocket a map of all ways 
leading to or from the Celestial City ; wherefore map of all ways 
he struck a light, (for he never goes also without leading to or from 
his tinder-box,) and takes a view of his book or ^^® <^^'y- 
map, which bids him to be careful in that place to turn to the right 
hand. And had he not been careful here to look in his map, they 
had all, in probability, been smothered in the mud ; for just a little 
before them, (and that at the end of the cleanest way too,) was a 
pit, none knows how deep, full of nothing but mud, there made on 
purpose to destroy ihe Pilgrims in. 

Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on -, ^, , ^ 

•1. 1 111 /.I -L God's book, 

pilgrimage, but would have one of these maps about 

him, that he may look, when he is at a stand, which is the way he 

must take ? 

Then they went on tlien in this Enchanted Ground till they 




An Arbour, two 
asleep therein. 



uted Ground.] 



came to where there was another Arbour, and it 
was built by the high- way side ; and in that Arbour 
there lay two men, whose names were Heedless 
and Too-bold. These two went thus far on pilgrim-age ; but, here 
bemg wearied with their journey, sat down to rest themselves, and 
so fell fast asleep. When the Pilgrims saw them, they stood still, 
and shook their heads, for they knew that the sleepers were in a 
pitiful case. Then they consulted what to do ; whether to go on, 
and leave them in their sleep, or to step to them, and try to awake 
them. So they concluded to go to them, and awake them ; that 
is, if they could ; but with this caution, namely, to take heed that 
they themselves did not sit down, nor embrace the offered benefit 
of that Arbour. 

So they went in, and spake to the men, and 

The Pilgrims try to ^^j^^^ ^^^j^ ^ j^-^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^ -^^ -^ ^ 

awake them. in, i 

did know them ;) but there was no voice nor answer. 
Then the guide did shake them, and do what he could to disturb 
them. Then said one of them, I will pay you when I take my 
money. At which the guide shook his head. I will fight so Icmg 
as I can hold my sword in my hand, said the other. At that one 
of the children laughed. 
S3G 



PILGRIM'S PROGifEsS, 337 

Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this ? The guide 
said, They talk in their sleep. If you strike them, Their endsavoui ia 
beat them, or whatsoever else you do to them, they fruitless. 
will answer you after this fashion ; or, as one of them said in old 
time, when the waves of the sea did beat upon him, and he slept 
as one upon the mast of a ship : " When I awake, I will seek it 
again."* You know, when men talk in their sleep, they say any 
thing ; but their words are not governed either by faith or reason. 
There is an incoherency in their words now, as there was before, 
betwixt their going on pilgrimage and setting down here. This 
then is the mischief of it ; when heedless ones go on pilgrimage, 
't is twenty to one but they are served thus ; for this Enchanted 
Ground is one of the last refuges that the enemy of Pilgrims has ; 
wherefore it is, as you see, placed almost at the end of the w^ay, 
and so it standeth against us with the more advantage. For when, 
thinks the enemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit down as 
when they are weary ? and when so like to be weary as when 
almost at their journey's end? Therefore it is, I say, that the En- 
chanted Ground is placed so nigh to the land Beulafi^ and so near 
the end of their race. Wherefore let Pilgrims look to themselves, 
iest it happen to them as it has done to these that, as you see, are 
fallen asleep, and none can awake them. 

Then the Pilgrims desired with trembling to go forward ; only 
they prayed their gniide to strike a light, that they T^^g ^gj^t of the 
might go the rest of the way by the help of the world. 
light of a lantern.f So he struck a light, and they went by the 
help of that through the rest of this way, though the darkness was 
very great. 

But the children began to be sorely weary ; and The children cry 
they cried out unto him that loveth Pilgrims, to for weariness. 
make their way more comfortable. So, by that they aad gone a 
little farther, a wind arose that drove away the fog ; so the air 
became more clear. 

Yet they were not off (by much) of the Enchanted Ground ; 
only now they could see one another better, and the way wherein 
they should walk. 

Now, when they were almost at the end of this ground, the/ 
perceived that a little before them was a solemn noise, as of one 
that was much concerned. So they went on, and ^^^^^^^^^ ^p^^ his 
looked before them ; and behold they saw, as they knees on the En. 
thought, a Man upon his knees, with hands and c^ianted Ground, 
eves lifted up, and speaking, as they thought, earnestly to one that 

• Prcv. xxiii. 34, 35. 1 2 Pet. i. 19. 
29 



338 PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

was above. They drew nigh, but could not tell what he said ; sc 
they went softly till he had done. When he had done, he got up, 
and began to run towards the Celestial City. Then Mr. Great- 
heart called after him, saying, Soho ! friend, let us have your con> 
pany, if you go, as I suppose you do, to the Celestial City, So the 
man stopped, and they came up to him. But as soon as Mr. Honest 
saw him, he said, I know this Man. Then said Mr. Valiant-for-truth. 
The story of stand- Prithee, who is it? It is one, said he, that corner 
fast. from whereabout I dwelt ; his name is Stand-fast ; 

he IS certainly a right good Pilgrim. 

So they came up to one another; and presently Stand-fast said 
Talk betwixt him to old Honest, Ho ! father Honest, are you there ? 
and Mr. Honest. Ay, said he, that I am, as sure as you are there. 
Right glad I am, said Mr. Standfast, that I have found you on this 
road. And as glad am I, said the other, that I espied you on youi 
knees. Then Mr. Standfast blushed, and said, But why, did you 
see me? Yes, that I did, quoth the other; and, with my heart, 
was glad at the sight. Why, what did you think ? said Stand- 
fast. Think! said old Honest; what should I think? I thought 
we had an honest man upon the road ; and therefore should have 
his company by-and-by. If you thought not amiss, said Stand-fast, 
how happy am I ! but, if I be not as I should, 't is I alone must bear 
it. That is true, said the other ; but your fear doth farther con 
firm me that things are right betwixt the Prmce of Pilgrims 
and your soul; for, he saith ^^ Blessed is the man that feareth 



They found him at Val. Well, but, brother, I pray thee tell us, what 
prayer. was it that was the cause of thy being u^on thy 

knees even now ? Was it for that some special mercy laid obli- 
gations upon thee, or how ? 

What it was that Stand-fast. Why, we are, as you see, upon the 
fetched him upon Enchanted Ground, and, as I was coming along, I 
his knees. ^^^ musing with myself of what a dangerous na- 

ture the road in this place was, and how many that had come 
even thus far on pilgrimage had there been stopped, and been de- 
stroyed. I thought also of the manner of the death with which this 
place destroyeth men. Those that die here die of no violent dis- 
temper : the death which such die is not grievous to them ; for he 
that goeth away in a sleep begins that journey with desire and 
pleasure ; yea, such acquiesce in the will of that disease. 

Then Mr. Honest, interrupting him, said, Did you see the two 
men asleep in the arbour ? 

Stand-fast. Ay, ay ; I saw Heedless and Too-bold there ; and 



PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 339 

for auglit I know, there they will lie till they rot.* But let me go 
on with my tale : As I was thus musing, as I said, there was one 
in very pleasant attire, but old, who presented herself to me, and 
offered me three things, to wit, her body, her purse, and her bed. 
Now, the truth is, I was both aweary and sleepy : I am also as 
poor as a howlet, and that perhaps the witch knew. Well, I re- 
pulsed her once and again; but she put by my repulses, and 
smiled. Then I began to be angry ; but she mattered that nothing 
at all. Then she made offers again, and said, if I would be ruled 
by her, she would make me great and happy ; for, said she, I am 
the Mistress of the World, and men are made happy by me. Then 
I asked her name, and she told me it was Madam Madam Bubble ; or 
Bubble. This set me farther from her : but she this vain world. 
still followed me with enticements. Then I betook me, as you 
saw, to my knees ; and with hands lifted up, and cries, I prayed to 
him that had said he would help. So, just as you came up, the 
gentlewoman went her way. Then I continued to give thanks for 
this my great deliverance ; for I verily believe she intended no 
good, but rather sought to make stop of me in my journey. 

Hon. Without doubt, her designs were bad. But stay, now you 
talk of her, methinks I either have seen her, or have read some 
story of her. 

Stand-fast. Perhaps you have done both. 

Hon. Madam Bubble ! is she not a tall, comely dame, some- 
thing of a swarthy complexion ? 

Stand-fast. Right ; you hit it. She is just such a one. 

Hon. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you a smile 
at the end of every sentence ? 

Standfast. You fall right upon it again ; for these are her very 
actions. 

Hon. Doth she not wear a great purse by her side ? and is not 
her hand often in it, fingering her money, as if that was her heart's 
delight 1 

Standfast. 'Tis just so. Had she stood by all this while, you 
could not more amply have set her forth before me, and have better 
described her features. 

Hon. Then he that drew her picture was a good limner, and he 
that wrote of her said true. 

Great-heart. This women is a witch ; and it is _, , . 

. , , . , . The world. 

by virtue of her sorceries that this ground is en- 
chanted. Whoever doth lay his head down in her lap, had as 
good lay it down on that block over which the axe doth hang; and 
* Prov. X. ?. 



340 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

whoever lay their eyes upon her beauty, are counted the enemies 
©f God. This is she that maintaineth in their splendour all those 
that are the enemies of Pilgrims.* Yea, this is she that hath 
bought off many a man from a Pilgrim's life. She is a great gos- 
siper: she is always, both she and her daughters, at one Pilgrim's 
heels or another, now commending and then preferring the excel- 
lences of this life. She is a bold and impudent slut; she will 
talk with any man. She always laugheth poor Pilgrims to scorn, 
but highly commends the rich. If there be one cunning to get 
money in a place, she will speak well of him from house to house. 
She loveth banqueting and feasting mainly well : she is always at 
one full table or another. She has given it out in some places that 
she is a goddess ; and therefore some do worship her. She has her 
time and open places of cheating ; and she will say, and avow it, 
that none can show a good comparable to hers. She promiseth to 
dwell with children's children, if they will but love her, and make 
much of her. She will cast out of her purse gold like dust in some 
places, and to some persons. She loves to be sought after, spoken 
well of, and to lie in the bosoms of men. She is never weary of 
commending her commodities, and she loves them most that think 
best of her. She will promise to some crowns and kingdoms, if 
they will but take her advice ; yet many hath she brought to the 
halter, and ten thousand times more to hell. 

Oh! said Stand-fast, what a mercy is it that I did resist her! 
for whither might she have drawn me I 

Great-heart. Whither ! nay, none but God knows whither ; but, 
in general, to be sure, she would have drawn thee into " many 
foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and 
perdition.^^1[ 

'T was she that set Absalom agamst his father, and Jeroboam 
against his master. 'T was she that persuaded' Judas to sell his 
Lord, and that prevailed with Demas to forsake the godly Pil- 
grim's life. None can tell of the mischief that she doth : she 
makes variance betwixt rulers and subjects, betwixt parents and 
children, betwixt neighbour and neighbour, betwixt a man and 
(lis wife, betwixt a man and himself, betwixt the flesh and the 
.jpirit. , 

Wherefore, good Mr. Standfast, be as your name is ; and, "when 
you have done all, stand." 

At this discourse there was, among the Pilgrims, a mixture of 
joy and trembling; but at length they broke out and sung : — 

* James iv. 4. 1 John ii, 15. 1 1 Tim. vi. 9. 



pilgrim's .progress. 34J 

What danger is the Pilgrim in. 

How many are his foes 1 
How many ways there are to sin. 

No living mortal knows. 
Some in the ditch are spoil'd : yea can 

Lie tumbhng in tlie mire ; 
Some, though they shan the frying-pan, 

Do leap into the fire. 

After this, I beheld until they were come into the land of Beu- 
lahj where the sun shineth night and day. Here, because they 
were weary, they betook themselyes a Avhile to rest ; and because 
this country was common for Pilgrims, and because the orchards 
and vineyards that were here belonged to the King of the Celestial 
Country, therefore they were licensed to make bold with any of 
his things. But a little while soon refreshed them here j for Jhe 
bells did so ring, and the trumpets continually sound so melodi- 
ously, that they could not sleep, and yet they received as much 
refreshing as if they slept their sleep never so soundly. Here also 
all the noise of them that walked the streets was, " More Pilgrims 
are come to town." And another would answer, saying, " And so 
many went over the water, and were let in at the golden gates 
to-day." They would cry again, " There is now a legion of 
Shining Ones just come to town, by which we know that there are 
more Pilgrims upon the road ; for here they come to wait for them, 
and to comfort them after all their sorrow." Then the Pilgrims 
got up, and walked to and fro: but how were their ears now filled 
with heavenly noises, and their eyes delighted with celestial vis- 
ions ! In this land they heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, 
smelt nothing, tasted nothing, that was offensive to their stomach 
or mind ; only, when they tasted of the water of the p^^^j^ ^-^^^^^ ^^ ^^^ 
river over which they were to go, they thought that flesh, but sweet to 
tasted a little bitterish to the palate j but it proved ^^^ ^°"^ 
sweeter when it was down. 

In this place there was a record kept of the names of them that 
had been Pilgrims of old, and a history of all the famous acts that 
they had done. It was here also much discoursed, J)Q^^Y^ j,as its eb- 
how the river to some had had its Sowings, and bings and fiowings 
what ebbmgs it has had while others have gone ^^® ^^^ t^<^®- 
over: it has been in a manner dry for some, while it has over- 
flowed its banks for others. 

In this place, the children of the toAvn would go into the King's 
Gardens, and gather nosegays for the Pilgrims, and bring them to 
them with much affection. Here also grew camphire with spike- 
nard and saifron ; calamus, and cinnamon, with all the trees of 
29* 



342 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

frankincense, myrrh, and aloes, with all chief spices. With these 
the Pilgiims' chambers were perfumed while they stayed herej 
and with these were their bodies anomted, to prepare them to go 
over the river, when the time appointed was come. 

Now, Avhile they lay here, and waited for the good hour, there 
. f was a noise in the town, that there was a Post 

A messenger oi ' 

death sent to come from the Celestial City, with matter of great 
ChrisUana. importance to one Christiana, the wife of Chris- 

tian the Pilgrm). So inquiry was made for her, and the house was 
found out where she was. So the Post presented her with a letter ; 

the contents were, " Hail, good woman ! I bring 
i!> message. ^^^^ tidings that the Master ealleth for thee, and 
expecteth that thou shouldst stand in his presence, in clothes of 
immortality, within these ten days." 

When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a 
sure token that he was a true messenger, and was come to bid her 

make haste to be gone. The token was, " An ar- 

How welcome .=' t-t, ■, ^ ., 

Deaiii is to them ^010 toiili a point sharpened with love, let easily 
that have nothing into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effect- 
.0 utto le, iially with her, that, at the time appointed, she 
must be goneP 

When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that she was 
the first of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr. 
Great-heart her guide, and told him how matters were. So he told 

her he was heartily glad of the news, and could 
"uTde^'''^ ^"^ ^^'^ l^ave been glad had the Post come for him. Then 

she bid him that he should give advice how all 

things should be prepared for her journey. So he told her saying, 

Thus and thus it must be; and we that survive will accompany 

„ , , ., , you to the river-side. Then she called for her 

To her children. •', ., ^ , , •> ^ -, • -, ^ ^ 

children, and gave tnem her blessing, and told 
them, that she had read with comfort the mark that was set in their 
foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there, and that they 
had kept their garments so Avhite. Lastly, she bequeathed to the 
poor that little she had, and commanded her sons and daughters to 
be ready against the messenger should come for them. 

When she had spoken these words to her guide, and to her chil- 
dren, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-tmth, and said 
t^-uth'' ^^^'^''^'^''^' unto him. Sir, you have in all places showed your- 
self true-hearted ; be faithful unto death, and my 
King will give you a crown of life. I would also entreat you to 
have an eye to my children ; and, if at any time you see them faint, 
speak comfortably to them. For my daughters, my sons* wives, 



pilgrim's progress. 343 

they have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the ^ „ ^ 

• .-1, -m .1 • 1 -r> -L To Mr. Stand-fasl. 

promise upon them, will be their end. But she gave 

Mr. Standfast a ring. 

Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said 
of him, " Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no 
guile !" Then said he, I wish you a fair day when you set out for 
mount Zion, and shall be glad to see that you go over the river 
dry-shod. But she answered, Come iDet, come dry, I long to be 
gone ; for, however the weather is in my journey, I shall have time 
enough, when I come there, to sit down, and rest me, and dry me 

Then came in that good man, Mr. Ready-to-halt, 
to see her. So she said to him. Thy travel hitherto ^°^^^''- ^^eady-to 
has been with "difficulty, but that will make thy 
rest the sweeter. But, " watch and be ready 3 for, at an hour when 
ye think not, the messenger may come." After him came Mr. 
Despondency, and his daughter Much-afraid; to ^o Mr. Despon- 
whom she said, " You ought with thankfulness for dency and his 
ever to remember your deliverance from the hands daughter, 
of Giant Despair, and out of Doubting Castle. The effect of that 
mercy is, that you are brought with safety hither. Be ye watchful, 
and cast away fear; be sober, and hope to the end." 

Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast to Mr. Feeble- 
delivered from the mouth of Giant Slay-good, that mind. 
thou mightest live in the light of the living, and see thy King with 
comfort ; only I advise thee to repent of thine aptness to fear and 
doubt of his goodness before he sends for thee ; lest thou shouldest, 
when he comes, be forced to stand before him for that fault, with 
blushing. 

Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. So the 
road was full of people to see her take her journey, jj^j. jg^g^ ^^^ ^^^ 
But, behold, all the banks beyond the river were manner of depart- 
ful of horses and chariots, which were come down "^®' 
from above to accompany her to the City-Gate. So she came 
forth, and entered the river with a beckon of farewell to those that 
followed her. The last words that she was heard to say were, 
" I come. Lord, to be with thee, and bless thee." 

So her children and friends returned to their place, for those that 
waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sight. So she 
went and called and entered in at the Gate, with all the ceremo- 
nies of joy that her husband Christian had entered with before her. 

At her departure her children wept ; but Mr. Great-heart and 
Mr. Valiant played upon the well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy. 
So" all departed to their respective places. 





Christiana passin;: tlie liver.J 

In process of time there came a Post to the town agam, and hi3 
business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he in- 
summonsed "^ s quired liim out, and said, 1 am come from Him 
Avhom thou hast loved and followed, though upon 
crutches ; and my message is to tell thee that he expects thee at 
his table, to sup with him in his kingdom, the next day after 
Easter ; wherefore prepare thyself for this journey. Then he also 
gave him a token that he was a true messenger, saying, " / have 
broken thy golden bowl, and loosed thy silver cord?^ 

After thi^, Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow Pilgrims, and 

told them, saying, I am sent for, and, God shall surely visit you 

also. So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will. And because 

he had nothing to bequeath to them that should survive him, but 

344 



pilgrim's progress. 345 

his crutches and his good wishes, therefore thus he 

1 mi ITT i' T Promises. 

said: These crutches I bequeath to my son that 

shall tread in my steps, with a hundred warm 



wishes that he may prove better than I have 
been. 

Then he thanked Mr. Great heart for his conduct and kindness, 
and so addressed himself to his journey. When he came to the 
brink of the river, he said. Now, I shall have no more need of thes.e 
crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. 
The last works he was heard to say were, " Wei- „. , 

,.^ ,„ ™ , . , . ■' ' His last words. 

covie life !" So he went his Avay. 

After this, Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought Feeble-mind sum- 
him, that the Post sounded his horn at his chamber moned. 
door. Then he came in, and told him, saying, I am come to tell 
thee that thy Master hath need of thee ; and that, in a very little 
time, thou must behold his face in brightness. And take this as 
a token of the truth of my message: " Those that look out at the 
vnndows shall he darkened?' 

Then Mr. Feeble-miiid called for his friends, and told them 
what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had 
received of the truth of the message. Then he said, since I have 
nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make a will ? 
As for my feeble-mind, that I will leave behind me, „ , , . 

^ , X 1 n 1 1 f ■ 1 1 1-1 He makes his will. 

for that I shall have no need oi m the place whither 
I go ; nor is it Avorth bestowmg upon the poorest Pilgrims ; where- 
fore when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury 
it in a dunghill. This done, and the day being come on which he 
was to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words 
were, ^^ Hold out, faith a7id patience P'' So he „. , 

■' ^ ■' ^ . ^ ^ His last words. 

went over to the other side. 

When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despondency 
was sent for ; for a Post was come, and brought this message to 
him : " Trembling man, these are to summon thee Mr. Despondency's 
to be ready with the King by the next Lord's day, summons. 
to shout for joy for thy deliverance from all thy doubtings." 

And, said the messenger, that my message is true, take this for 
a proof; so he gave him "a grasshopper to he a hurden unto 
him.''''^ Now, Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose His daughter goes 
name was Much-afraid, said, when she heard what too. 
was done, that she would go with her father. Then Mr. Despon- 
dency said to his friends. Myself and my daughter, you know what 
we have been, and how troublesomely we have behaved ourselves 



84b PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 

in every company ; my will and my daughter's is 
that our desponds and slavish fears be by no man 
ever received from the day of our departure for ever ; for I know 
that after my death, they will offer themselves to others. For, to 
be plain with you, they are ghosts w^hich we entertained when we 
€rst began to be Pilgrims, and could never shake them off after ; 
and they will walk about, and seek entertainment of the Pilgrims; 
but, for our sakes, shut the doors upon them. 

When the time was come for them to depart, they went up to 
„. , , - the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. De- 

His last words. 

spondency were, " Farewell nighty welcome day .'" 
His daughter went through the river singing, but none could un- 
derstand what she said. 

Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a Post in the 
town that inquired for Mr. Honest. So he came to the house where 
Mr. Honest sum- he was, and delivered to his hand these lines: 
'"^"^'^- " Thou art commanded to be ready against this 

day seven-night, to present thyself before the Lord at his Father's 
house." And for a token that my message is true, " All the 
daughters of music shall he brought low.'^^* Then Mr. Honest 
called for his friends, and said mito them, I die, but shall make no 

„ , .,, will. As for my honesty, it shall go with me j let 

He makes no will. n ■, i ■, f ■, • 

him that comes after be told oi this. 

When the day that he was to be gone was come, he addressed 
himself to go over the river. Now the river at that time overflowed 
its banks in some places; but Mr. Honest, in his lifetime, had 
Good-conscience spoken to one Good-conscience to meet him there; 
helps Mr. Honest the which he also did, and lent him his hand, and 
over the river. g^ helped him over. The last words of Mr. Hon- 
est were, " Grace reigns ;" so he left the world. 

After this, it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was 
Mr. Vaiiant-for- taken with a summons by the same Post as the 
truth summoned. other, and had this for a token that the summons 
was true, " That his pitcher was broken atthefou7itain.^^\ When 
he understood it, he called for his friends, and told them of it. 
Then said he, I am going to my Father's ; and though with great 
difficulty I have got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the 
„. .„ trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My 

His will. ,-r- 1- 1 111 -I . 

sword I give to him that shall succeed me m my 
pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that can get it. My 
marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I 
have fought His battles, who now will be my reward er. When 

• Eccl. xii 4, tEccl. xii, 6. - 



PILGRLM'S PROGRESS 347 

the day tnat he must go hence was come, many accompanied him 

to the river-side ; into which as he went, he said, 

'■^ Death where is thy sting?'''' And as he went 

down deeper, he said, " Grave^ where is thy victory ?" So he 

passed oyer, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side. 

Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand- Mr. standfast ia 
fast. This Mr. Standfast was he that the rest of summoned 
the Pilgrims found upon his knees in the Enchanted Ground And 
the Post brought it him open in his hands. The contents thereof 
were, " That he must prepare for a change of life, for his Master 
was not Avilling that he should be so far from him any longer." 
At this Mr. Standfast was put into a muse. Nay, said the mes- 
senger, you need not doubt of the truth of my message, for here is 
a token of the truth thereof, " Thy wheel is broken at the cistern.''^* 
Then he called to him Mr. Great-heart, who was He calls for Mr. 
their guide, and said unto him, Sir, although it Great-heart. 
was not my hap to be much in your good company during the days 
of my pilgrimage, yet, since the time I kncAv you. His speech to him. 
you have been profitable to me. When I came 
from home, I left behind me a wife and five small children ; let me 
entreat you, at your reUu-n, (for I know that you will go and return 
to your Master's house, in hopes that you may yet be a conductor 
to more of the holy Pilgrims,) that you send to my family, and let 
them be acquainted with all that hath and shall happen unto me. 
Tell them, moreover, of my happy arrival at this His errand to his 
place, and of the present and late blessed condition family. 
1 am in. Tell them also of Christian and Christiana his wife, and 
how she and her children came after her husband. Tell them also 
of what a happy end she made, and whither she is gone. I have 
little or nothing to send to my family, unless it be prayers and tears 
for them ; of which it will suffice that you acquaint them, if perad- 
venture they may prevail. 

When Mr. Standfast had thus set things in order, and the time 

being come for him to haste him away, he also went down to the 

river. Now there was a great calm at that time in the river; 

wherefore Mr. Standfast, when he was about half-way in, stood a 

while and talked with his companions that had wait- „. , , 

1 . 1 -. 1 • 1 rrn • • 1 ^1^ last words. 

ed upon him thither ; and he sa.id, ihis river, has 

been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it also have often 

frighted me ; but now methinks I stand easy, my foot is fixed upon 

that on which the feet of the priests that bare the Ark of the Cov- 

aant stood, while Israel went over this Jordan.f The waters in- 

* Eccl. xii. f5. t Josh. iii. 17 



348 PILGRIM''S PROGRESS. 

deed are to the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold ; yet the 
thoughts of what I am going to, and of the conduct that waits for 
me on the other side, doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart. I 
see myself now at the end of my journey ; my toilsome days are 
ended. I am ^oing to see that Head that was crowned with thorns, 
and that face that was spit upon, for me. I have formerly lived by 
hearsay and faith ; but now I go where I shall live by sight, and 
shall be with Him in whose company I delight myself. I have 
loved to hear my Lord spoken of; and wherever I have seen the 
print of his shoe in the earth, there I have coveted to set my foot 
too. His name has been to me as a civet-box ; yea, sweeter than 
all perfumes. His voice to me has been most sweet, and his coun- 
tenance I have more desired than they that have most desired the 
light of the sun. His words I did use to gather for my food, and 
for antidotes against my fain tings. He has held me, and hath kept 
me from mine iniquities ; yea, my steps hath he strengthened in 
his way. Now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance 
changed ; his strong man bowed under him j and after he had 
said, " Take me, for I come unto thee," he ceased to be seen of 
them. 

But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with 
horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and 
players upon stringed instruments, to welcome the Pilgrims as they 
went up, and followed one another in at the Beautiful Gate of the 
City ! 

As for Christiana's children, the four boys that Christiana brought 
with her, with their wives and children, I did not stay where I was 
till they were gone over. Also, since I came away, I heard one 
say that they were yet alive, and so would be, for the increase of 
the church in that place where they were, for a time. 

Should it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that 
desire it an account of what I here am silent about. Meantime 1 
bid my reader 

Adieu. 



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